


Dominus

by JPKenwood



Series: Dominus [1]
Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Fantasy historical, Original Work
Genre: Ancient Rome, Character Death, Cock Cages, Deception, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Flogging, Heavy Angst, Implied Child Abuse, Implied F/F, Implied M/F, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Power Dynamics, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, Treachery, Violence, Voyeurism, female slaves, male masters, male slaves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPKenwood/pseuds/JPKenwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Roman general acquires a new sex slave—a feisty captured Dacian prince.  A historical fantasy saga with sex, plot twists, angst, humor, love and intrigue. While nearly all details are historically accurate and the story is tied to major historical events and prevailing cultural attitudes during the reign of the Emperor Trajan (AD 98-117), the tale is entirely fictional and the dialogue is deliberately modern in flavor. This is the first installment of a five part saga.</p><p>For information about this series, character profiles, story snippets and more, check out the <b><i>Dominus</i></b> blog at: http://jpkenwood.com</p><p> © 2013 and © 2014 JP Kenwood, All rights reserved</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: 
> 
> Gaius Fabius Rufus, a Roman general and a prominent member of the court of the Emperor Trajan, has returned home in triumph from the wars against Rome’s northern enemy, the kingdom of Dacia. With the battles over, the restless commander spends his days in leisure at his ancestral mansion in Rome and at his seaside villa down by Naples in southern Italy. When in Rome, he advises the emperor, attends meetings of the Senate, luxuriates at lavish dinner parties and sneaks off for illicit trysts with his secret, long-time lover, Lucius Petronius Celsus, a fellow aristocrat and the chief lawyer for the emperor’s court. Since peace now affords him more time to relax, Gaius leaves the capital often to enjoy his stable of male and female sex slaves housed down at his Campanian villa. During a brief trip to Rome, Gaius purchases another sex slave on a whim. He suspects that his new slave, Allerix, is not the peasant that the young man pretends to be. Over the course of breaking and training Allerix, Gaius falls deeply for the talented, headstrong and beautiful Dacian captive. Meanwhile, unable to escape his enslavement, Allerix plots his revenge in spite of his growing admiration and affection for his handsome, lusty master. When tragedy strikes, Allerix must chose either vengeance for his defeated kinsmen or loyalty to the man that now owns his body and has earned his respect.

 

**Rome, AD 107**

  
“Dominus, wait.”  
  
Maximus was exhausted.   
  
Exhausted and humiliated. As a boy, he had frequently traveled great distances with his kinsmen, often on foot. Now, after nearly a decade as Gaius Fabius's coddled cock warmer, Max was pathetically unfit. Hunched over and wheezing, he tried to catch his breath at the bottom of another long set of steep steps. Drops of perspiration pooled in the hollow of his broad, dark-skinned back.   
  
He and Gaius Fabius Rufus had spent the better part of the early afternoon running up and down the steep slopes of the city in this blazing heat. He tried to keep pace with him, but the general was too fast. His master was clearly on a mission.  
  
 _Former_  master.  
  
He was no longer Gaius Fabius's property. Not after that night a few months ago. One moment he'd been Dom’s pleasure slave — the next moment, he was a freedman. A client, Dom had called it when he'd informed Max about his abrupt change in status. So what exactly were the benefits that came with this gift of 'conditional' freedom? Not all that much had changed, except that he'd been booted out of Dom's bed.   
  
Yesterday’s shiny thing.  
  
Streams of sweat poured down his muscular neck and seeped under the collar of his summer tunic. This enormous city was an endless labyrinth of narrow streets, stone colonnades and steep stairways. He felt like a rat trapped in a maze in this place. And this time of year, the hot, humid air always carried the overpowering stench of sickly-sweet oleander mixed with urine. Perhaps soon they’d return to the cool ocean breezes of the commander's idyllic seaside retreat on the Bay of Neapolis.  
  
Max licked his dry lips and inhaled deeply before shouting up the slope of the staircase.  
  
"Commander!"    
  
After swiping the back of his hand across his moist forehead, Max shielded his eyes and looked up the stairs into the glare of the midday sun.  
  
“Hurry up, Maximus! We’re already late!” Before Max could answer, Gaius Fabius disappeared into the blinding light.  
  
During the hasty journey from his patron's mansion to wherever they were going, Max kept falling behind.  No surprise given that Lord Fabius was scaling every damn staircase two steps at a time! Gaius Fabius knew every district and back alley of this city. The commander was never lost here. The man knew the ins and outs of the capital better than he knew the curves and ridges of his own stiff cock.  
  
Max labored to the top of the stairs. There was no sign of his crimson-haired patron, only crowds of poor men and a few hags dragging their squawking brats through the noisy, filthy streets. Commander Fabius mentioned that the emperor had recently ordered more frequent police patrols to curb street violence, but senseless attacks in broad daylight still occurred in some parts of the city. Despite his new freedman rank and his formidable size, Max was alone and vulnerable. He touched the solid handle of the dagger strapped to his torso beneath the folds of his tunic for reassurance. At least, as a freedman, he was permitted to carry a weapon for self-defense. He spotted another staircase at the end of the block and ran towards it. He almost reached the bottom step when a group of inebriated soldiers loitering in front of a shabby tavern stepped out of the shadows and into his path, blocking him.  
  
“What do we have here then? A runaway?” The shortest of the gang squawked and then laughed, wads of white spit bubbling from the corners of his pudgy mouth. “Where’s your owner, slave?”  
  
“Answer the centurion’s question, Ethiopian!” A taller soldier with a shaved head slurred.  
  
Max faked a coughing fit and doubled over, slipping his right hand under his tunic to grab the dagger handle. He’d fight if it came to that, whatever that was worth. Although they weren’t dressed in battle gear, the brutes were armed with swords. Max counted five of them, surrounding him. He could smell cheap whorehouse wine.  
  
“I’d wager he’s a convict that's escaped from prison or the arena cages.” Belched another swaying soldier, before he took a swig of drink from his cracked ceramic cup.  
  
One brute shoved him.  Another elbowed him from behind. They were pushing him towards a dark recess between two dilapidated buildings. Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw the stairs just a few yards away. He drew his dagger, pointing the blade at the chubby leader, and thrashed out of the suffocating circle of bladdered thugs.  
  
 _Stay in the light. If they get you off the street, you’re as good as dead!_  
  
“I’m not a slave!”  
  
The armed louts laughed, slapped each other on the shoulder and tossed back more rancid drink. Within seconds, they crowded around again, forcing Max towards the open door of the tavern. “That’s all you have, savage? A little itty-bitty knife?” The shaved soldier slapped Max upside his head and easily snatched the dagger out of Max’s grip.  
  
“Now, Macro. Be fair, lad. He’s got a plump, delicious rump as well. Haul him off the street. Now!”  
  
Two of the men grabbed him.  
  
“I’m a freedman and a client! Get off me! I’m a client of Gaius…”  
  
The wiry-haired centurion punched him in the face and then laughed harder, ordering his men to take Max to a cell in the far back of the tavern. As they dragged him through the smelly dive, gamblers and prostitutes cheered at the unexpected entertainment. After barging into one of the back rooms and ousting the slut and her client, they bent Max over and pinned him down, pressing his face against the hard surface of the stone couch. So the Fates had decided that he would die on this day draped over a whore's stained bed? Max shut his eyes and whispered a farewell prayer to his gods.  
  
The centurion ordered two of his minions to stand guard at the threshold, and then strolled slowly to the back of the small, dank cell. He lifted Max's tunic and grunted perversely while ogling Max's delectable arse. Without breaking his stare, he gulped the last swallow of bitter wine and tossed the cup aside, his hand now free to pull out his short, fat prick. Max heard the centurion spit into his palm, and then the sound of the slime being rubbed over flesh.  
  
“Officers first!” The centurion cackled with lust.  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
A honed blade sliced through the centurion's gut, exiting just above his navel. He gurgled and groaned, his body jerking in spasms against the rigid metal, before collapsing onto the floor in a puddle of piss and blood. Expressionless, Gaius Fabius stepped back and raised a second sword.  
  
He glared. "Who’s next? I’m late for an appointment, so let's be quick about this.”  
  
The two goons froze with their mouths agape. Neither man could utter much more than high-pitched whimper, as they quickly loosened their hold on Max. Although they’d never served in the field directly under the command of Gaius Fabius Rufus, the soldiers recognized his unusual copper curls and his distinctive aquiline nose from portrait statues and campaign musters. The general’s leonine demeanor and noble profile were unmistakable.  
  
They were imperially fucked.  
  
Dropping the sword, the commander stepped forward and stared directly into the wet, piggy eyes of the bald soldier. “I know each and every one of you bastards. Your name, your rank, and your eagle,  _Macro_." Gaius unsheathed his own ivory-handled dagger and cut a swathe of unspoiled cloth from the dead centurion’s tunic and handed it to Max. “Wipe the blood off, Maximus. We can’t have you showing up to a function covered in filth, can we?”  
  
“Yes, Dom... Commander.”  
  
Turning back around to face the soldiers, the general barked more instructions. “Strip and throw his vile corpse into the rubbish dump where it obviously belongs. And then return to your precious families. You will wait at your homes for my fucking orders. Do not leave the city!  Do you morons understand?”  
  
“Yes, Lord Commander Fabius.” They murmured low in unison.  
  
They lifted the centurion’s bloodied body and shuffled out, heads lowered in deference, making sure not to look the general in the eye. After they'd left, Gaius grabbed Max by the jaw, turning his face to and fro, inspecting his former slave for damage. Old habits died hard. Finally he cupped Max’s cheek and smiled.  
  
“No serious wounds. You’re fine. Let’s go. And stay close this time, pet!”  
  
His pulse pounding like a drum in his ears, Max chuckled nervously. “Thank you for saving me, sir. But — I’m no longer your pet, Commander.”  
  
“Nonsense! You’ll always be mine, slave or not. Your new status doesn't change that, Maximus. You'll always need my protection.”  
  
Max looked down at the dark pool of blood and piss on the floor. He closed his eyes and swallowed, nodding as he answered, “Yes, sir.”  
  
“Let’s hurry. It’s not much farther. And don’t get fucking lost this time!”  
  
Gaius Fabius darted up the staircase just outside the entrance to the tavern, with Max safely close on his heels. His fierce amber eyes focused straight ahead, as he weaved through the crowds like a lion charging through the winding corridors beneath the arena. Max had never witnessed the games, but he'd once heard about the incredible web of tunnels designed to maneuver exotic, wild animals up to the stage for slaughter. During a dinner party last year, Commander Fabius and his companions sat enthralled as they listened to the emperor's architect, Apollodorus, describe with elaborate gestures the complicated underground network that lay hidden beneath the wooden floor of the great amphitheater. It was a fascinating story. Of course, most times, Max only overheard trivial nonsense when he served food and drink at Gaius Fabius's parties. But he paid close attention to every word of conversation, convinced that even frivolous tidbits of information could prove useful to him.  And to his master.  
  
 _Former_  master.  
  
Max sped up and trotted alongside his patron. “May I ask a question, sir?”   
  
“As long as you don’t slow us down!”  
  
“Where are we going, sir?”  
  
As he waited for an answer, Max looked around. The grand houses and public buildings up here were certainly more opulent than the shabby apartment blocks located down below. But it was the color that was most different. It was greener, with lush foliage, vibrant flowers and tended gardens. And it didn’t smell like stale piss.  
  
Gaius Fabius stopped in his tracks, and pulled Max over and out of traffic. Locals of all shapes and ages, many well dressed in brilliant fabrics, scurried by them as they stood there on the curb of the mobbed street.  
  
“I didn’t tell you, Maximus?” Gaius’ brow wrinkled.  
  
“No, Commander. You said we had an errand to run. And here we are, running. But to where... sir?” Max titled his head and smiled.  Deep dimples hollowed under his high cheekbones and the skin around his dark brown eyes crinkled. Gaius gently brushed the raw swollen flesh above Max’s cheek with his fingertip. Even though he was nearing thirty years, Max was still so gorgeous. He threw his arm up and over his freedman’s brawny shoulder, veering them both back into the stream of pedestrian traffic.  
  
“I’m visiting Gnaeus Decius’s estate. There’s a private auction at his garden pavilion. It started earlier, but I’ll get there in time for my purposes.” As Gaius moved closer to Max, he lowered his voice. “Decius instructed the dealer to set aside the choicest offerings until my arrival. He’s a smart businessman and a loyal client of Lord Petronius. Now let’s move.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
 _So, handsome Lord Petronius was somehow behind this mad dash through the city?_  
  
Max shook his head and sighed. An auction — slaves for purchase. During their recent visits to the different slave markets in the capital, Commander Fabius had always walked away empty-handed, completely unimpressed with every creature that he saw. But this time was different. The general had certainly never sprinted up the hills and through the neighborhoods of Rome to attend an auction. And a private auction at an aristocratic home meant there would be only the highest quality merchandise for sale. The commander's associate, Lucius Petronius, must have tipped him off to some especially rare opportunity.  
  
Max continued to trail his former master through the bustling streets, as people stared. Gaius Fabius’s chestnut, spiral curls bounced with each deliberate stride. Even if he hadn't been a prominent member of the imperial court, he would have attracted attention. It was the confident, fuck-it-all way that he carried himself — his natural charisma. Some in the crowds no doubt also noticed the dark blood splotches that soiled the front of the commander’s light-colored tunic.  
  
Certainly the commander wasn’t dressed to make a show of his supreme rank. He wore an unadorned ordinary tunic with a wide belt slouched to one side. It was a nondescript costume that contrasted in an amusing way with his expensive red shoes. Gaius Fabius Rufus wouldn’t forego his dear patrician footwear under any circumstances. "Always make note of a man's shoes," he had once confided to Max.     
  
 _Noble shoes and fit whores._  Max chuckled, readjusting the large leather travel sack slung over his shoulder.  
  
As they marched through the streets, Max tried to imagine what creature could be worth all this effort. Lord Petronius must have discovered an exceptional young nymph for the commander's consideration. That had to be it.  Gaius Fabius already owned two beautiful boys but he only had one nubile girl, that quiet blonde, Zoe, whom Max rarely ever saw during the day.  She wasn't his responsibility.  
  
And, lest he forget, there was Simon’s mother, Callidora. The bitch’s cocky arrogance grated on Max's nerves. And she’d grown even more brazen and tiresome ever since her emerald-eyed spawn was promoted to Fabius’ favorite fuck toy. Yes, it was obvious. The general must be considering replacing Callidora with a younger, more submissive slut. Two boys and two girls — it made sense.  
  
 _Farewell, Calli, you scheming slag!_  Daydreaming, Max pictured how Callidora’s hysterical departure would play out, her arms flailing and her long brown hair flying about as she was dragged off, begging Commander Fabius to reconsider.  
  
Max’s toothy smirk vanished when another long flight of stone steps came into view.  
  
“Decius’s grounds are up here.” Gaius Fabius hollered between huffs as he easily scaled the first four steps. “Behind Salus’ shrine precinct.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Max started his ascent and then suddenly stopped. “Wait, Commander!”  
  
“By the gods! What is it now, Maximus?”  
  
“You told me before we left to remind you to change into more appropriate attire, sir.” Max glanced over his shoulder at the travel bag that he was carrying. “And a quick wash perhaps? I mean, for the blood and all, sir.”  
  
Gaius looked down at his stained tunic, rolled his eyes and nodded.  
  
“Right.”  
  
Pulling the damp fabric away from his skin, he descended to the bottom of the staircase. He closed his almond-shaped eyes and tightened his jaw before blurting out, “Ah! My buffoon client, Manlius, owns a small bathing establishment in this neighborhood. Come on then!”  
  
After turning a corner down a side street, they found the entrance to Manlius’ modest bath facilities. The large wooden door was closed and bolted shut, with ‘FOR LET’ painted in large white letters on a board nailed to the doorjamb.  
  
“Why didn’t the halfwit inform me that he shut down these baths? It’s his fucking obligation as my client to notify me of all of his transactions.”  
  
“Yes, sir. Perhaps it’s a recent development, sir.” Max thought for a moment and then spoke. “Commander, doesn’t Alexander run a business for you in Rome?”  
  
“Yes, he does. And it’s close. Shall we pay our dear Alexander a surprise visit then?”  
  
Max grinned. “Yes, sir.”  
  
Alex’s shop was a short walk from Manlius’s boarded up baths. The ground floor workspace that Gaius Fabius had purchased for Alex was neither large nor elaborate, but the constant stream of steady commissions kept the freedman occupied. Max had always wondered how Alexander was getting on with his new life in the capital. The drastic change from Alex’s cushy days as a pleasure slave down at the Campanian villa to the hardships of surviving the hustle and bustle of Rome must have been difficult. Commander Fabius never mentioned his freed sex slave any more.   
  
When they arrived at the workshop, Alexander was busy fixing the strap on another expensive piece of footwear. The daylight streaming in from the doorway was blocked by two shadows standing in the threshold, and he briefly glanced up from his work desk, pushing his long, grey-streaked bangs out of his eyes.  
  
“I’ll be right with you, gentlemen.”  
  
At first, Max didn’t recognize his dear friend. Alex looked thin and tired, with dark hollows under his once bright, beautiful hazel eyes. Alex couldn’t be more than forty years old, but with his slouched posture and gaunt frame, he appeared at least a decade older.  
  
“Greetings, Alexander.” Gaius spoke softly, in his distinct velvety voice.  
  
“Dom… Dominus?”  
  
On instinct, Alex dropped to his knees on the hard floor next to his bench and bowed his head. Gaius walked over and reached down to card his fingers through Alex’s thick locks. Gently, he lifted his former slave’s head and stared down into his astonished eyes.  
  
“How are you, pet?”  
  
“I — I — I’m well, Dominus. Business is brisk and the profit this month should be substantial. Are you — in need of shoes or…” Alex knew he was stammering like a fool but he couldn’t control his trembling tongue. Gaius touched his index finger to Alex’s full, succulent lips to hush him. Alex had been so handsome once.  
  
“I’m no longer your master, Alexander. But I am pleased to hear that my profits are up. Excellent work. I knew that you’d succeed. Now stand up. You remember Maximus?”  
  
Alex scrambled to his feet but forced his body to stay still, fighting the urge to run up and throw his arms around his gorgeous friend and former slave mate.  
  
“Max.” Alex’s voice swelled with affection.  
  
“Greetings, Alex.”  
  
Gaius unbuckled his plain belt and tossed it to Max. “Alexander, I need to change out of this soiled garb and wash up for an important affair.”  
  
“Yes, Dom… I mean, Commander. Please, make yourself at home. Well, it is yours. What I mean is… I’ll fetch some fresh water for you, sir.” Close to hyperventilating, Alex grabbed a large pot filled with dirty water that he used for working leather and rushed outside into the street.  
  
“Pass me the satchel, Maximus.” With his wardrobe change in hand, Gaius strolled to the shadows at the back of the shop, lifting his tunic over his head in one smooth motion. Light beams from the street illuminated the curves of his broad back muscles and his toned bum cheeks. He turned around, his cock dangling between his thick, hairless thighs. A lump of desire clogged Max’s throat. It had been so fucking long since he’d wrapped his lips around Commander Fabius’s hard length.  
  
“Go see if Alexander needs assistance. You haven’t had a chance to speak with him since he left the villa, have you?”  
  
With a blink and a shake of his head, Max snapped back to the present.  
  
“No I haven't, Commander. Thank you, sir.”  
  
Max bowed his head and darted out into the street, easily catching up with Alex as he approached the gushing water of a public fountain on the corner. Without a word, he hugged the shorter man, hard and long, before finally speaking.  
  
“Alex! It’s bloody great to see you. Shit, I’ve missed you. Are you all right, really?” He cupped his friend’s face in both palms, until Alex gently pushed him off.  
  
“Yes, Max. I’m fine.  _Really._  It’s not a bad life. At least I have a profitable trade that pleases Dominus. Dom did look pleased, didn’t he?” Alex flashed a strained whisper of a smile, as he placed the emptied basin on the ground under the fountain stream.  
  
“How’s life at the villa these days?” Alex asked.  
  
“Filled with sassy, pampered boy toys, as usual. Most days I’m nothing more than an old geezer nursemaid. It was more fun when you and I were sharing Dom’s bed. Now those were good times, eh?”  
  
Alex turned away, laughing softly, and then looked back into Max’s eyes. “How is… how’s my son?”  
  
“Simon’s well. He’s Dom’s new favorite now, the lucky little urchin. Simon’s taller than you and he has your eyes, only greener.”  
  
Alex tried to picture his boy, but the image was blurry. He hadn't seen Simon in so long.   
  
“Does he ever… does Simon ever ask about me?”  
  
Max carefully wiped a piece of dirt off Alex’s freckled cheek. “You look well, Alex.”  
  
They stood there, not speaking, looking into each other's eyes, as people elbowed past them to get to the fountain.  
  
Alex finally broke the bittersweet silence. “We better get this water back to the shop now.” The two started back towards the store, their brief reunion over.  
  
“I didn't know that Dom was in Rome. Where are you two headed, if I might ask?”  
  
“Gnaeus Decius’s estate. Have you heard of it?”  
  
“Yes. It’s a nice place, not that I’ve ever been inside the walls, mind you. But it looks quite grand on the outside.”  
  
“Hmm, I’m sure it’s magnificent. There’s an auction today. A  _private_  one.” Max lifted his brow.  
  
Alex snorted, shaking his head. “Shit. So, will it be a boy or girl, you think?”  
  
“Don’t know. Girl, I hope. I’ve got my hands full already with Nicomedes and Simon. I can't  imagine the mischief those two rascals have been up to during my absence.”  
  
When they re-entered the workshop, Alex choked down a gasp. His bronzed god of a former master was parading comfortably about the room stark naked, examining some of Alex’s handicraft. Gaius heard them return, but didn’t bother to look up.  
  
“A customer came calling. I told her that you would return in an hour, Alexander.” Gaius grinned, as he picked up a particularly posh pair of braided sandals and examined them carefully. “Hmm, these are very well-made. Maybe I  _should_  order some new shoes.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Alex carried over the bowl, spilling some on the floor, trying not to drool over the sight of his former master's fabulous naked body.  
  
"Can I be of any other service? Is there anything else you need, Commander?"    
  
"You’ll help me wash up, Alexander.”  
  
Alex smiled, as a flush of pink erupted over his neck. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”  
  
“Maximus, wait outside on the street but don’t stray far. If my memories are reliable, this won’t take long.”  
  
A short while later and Gaius emerged from the shop into the bright sunshine, dressed in a crisp and very clean, striped formal tunic that was cinched with a broad black belt decorated with silver studs.   
  
Proper attire for a posh private auction.  
  
“Alexander’s mouth is as skilled as I remembered. See to it that our young Simon’s cock sucking soon outshines his father’s mastery, Maximus.”  
  
"I'll make it a priority when we return to the villa, Commander." Max's lips curled up at the corners.   
  
Gaius smirked, as he adjusted his emptied balls and tightened his belt. He cleared his throat and snapped. “All right then, let’s go.”  
  
When they reached the top of the last staircase and skirted around the high marble precinct walls, the grand entrance gate to Decius’s secluded estate materialized. A pair of well-armed guards stood at the portal.  
  
“Greetings, Lord Commander Fabius. Lord Decius has been waiting for your arrival. Vedius, escort our most esteemed guest, and his slave, to the pavilion.” Max made a pained face at the guard’s assumption but remained silent.  
  
“What is your name, guard?” Gaius demanded.  
  
“Bulbus, my Lord Commander.”  
  
“Bulbus?” Gaius stifled a laugh, tickled at the guard’s unfortunate and yet strangely apt name, given the exceptionally round shape of the man’s large head. “My dear Bulbus. Tell me, have Petronius Celsus and Aelius Hadrianus arrived?”  
  
“Lord Petronius arrived before the start of the sale, Commander. You should find him at the pavilion in the company of your host. And our most esteemed Lord Aelius Hadrianus sent word of his intention to attend. He hasn’t arrived yet, I’m afraid, and the event is nearly over, sir.”  
  
Gaius flashed a bright but blank grin and then pressed three silver coins into Bulbus’s calloused palm.  
  
“Be sure that I learn of Lord Aelius’s arrival  _before_  he gets close to the auction pavilion.”  
  
“Understood, Lord Commander.” Bulbus nodded. “I’ll handle it personally.”  
  
Without any further formalities, Gaius Fabius and his weary freedman turned to follow their guide, who was patiently waiting for them a few steps ahead on the paved garden path. Young Vedius had never been in the presence of the emperor’s second in command. The striking, curly-haired general was imposing. Vedius’ hands were damp with sweat as he tried not to gawk.  
  
As the three made their way down the lush garden path, Vedius glanced over his shoulder every so often to keep an eye on his charges. Staying a few yards behind their fidgety escort, Gaius leaned in and spoke low into Max’s left ear.  
  
“Of course the furry princess is late! Publius Aelius always prefers to make a splashy entrance.” Gaius jested with a twinkle in his eye. “And I’d wager good coin that my dear little brother sent word in advance to secure pre-sale rights to whatever he's in the market for these days. I want the chance to acquire something exceptional before he shows up and inflates the prices.”  
  
“Yes, Commander.”  
  
Well, there it was. Another pleasure slave would soon be crowding the master’s chamber down at the seaside estate. Fortunately, a new morsel of snatch wouldn’t directly affect Max's workload. His primary duty now was to manage, discipline and train Commander Fabius’s boys. Handling those beautiful scoundrels kept him busy enough.  
  
As they followed Vedius under a vine-covered trellis and then down the verdant garden footpath, Max wiped his damp brow again and relaxed. Perhaps, now that he was a freedman, he'd be offered a cup of chilled wine.  
  
~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Rome, AD 107**  
  
  
“Ever seen anything as bloody tasteless as that?” Gaius Fabius lifted his chin, poking Max in the side with his elbow.  
  
As they walked closer towards Gnaeus Decius’s garish auction pavilion, his freedman’s dark brown eyes widened. In front of the round building, a circle of naked cupids holding their tiny stone dicks urinated pink-colored water into a basin beneath a large statue of Pan fucking a she-goat. From the roof, strings of bronze and silver breast-shaped shields twirled in the breeze and, up above, gilded roof tiles shimmered bright in the sunlight. Gossamer peacock blue curtains, suspended from gigantic, erect phallus hooks, gently billowed between slender, green and purple marble columns.   
  
“It’s quite—well, colorful, sir.”   
  
Gaius chuckled. “Unfortunately, it seems nitwit Decius spared no expense on this monstrosity.”  
  
A boisterous uproar of laughing and shouting erupted from behind the fluttering translucent curtains.   
  
 _Clang!_  
  
The unmistakable clash of bronze cymbals. Another body sold to the highest bidder.   
  
As they approached the main entrance, an armed guard with short gray hair saluted him and then stuck out his hand, palm side up.  
  
“Welcome, Commander Fabius. Your host will be most pleased that you’ve arrived. Surrender your weapons, if you would.”  
  
“My weapons?  This is a new development.”  
  
“I’m afraid so, Commander.” The guard gulped. “After that regrettable incident at Lord Hostilius’s auction last month, Lord Decius feels the need to — well, to take precautions, sir.”   
  
Shrugging, Gaius slipped his hand under the loose armhole of his tunic and drew out his dagger.  He’d heard that some old fart had been stuck like a pig over an auction dispute. The bastard probably deserved it. Decius was prudent to insure that sort of mayhem never happened at one of his exclusive events. Carefully, he handed over his ornate knife, embellished with an ivory handle carved in the shape of a lion’s paw.  
  
“Don’t misplace my property. I’ve carried this blade for many years. It has sentimental value. Right, Maximus?”  Max cast his eyes down and smiled sheepishly. “Yes it does, sir.”  
  
“Thank you for your cooperation, Lord Commander.  Please, this way.” The guard held back the indigo entrance curtain and gestured them inside.   
  
Despite the early afternoon breezes that blew in through the sheer fabrics, the darker interior of the circular auction hall was oppressively humid. As Max pulled at the collar of his tunic, Gaius scanned the crowd of aristocrats. They weren’t alone for long.   
  
“Gaius Fabius! Welcome to my humble hovel, Lord Commander!”   
  
“Greetings, Gnaeus Decius.”  
  
“The esteemed members of our Lord Emperor’s court are most welcome at my private events.” Decius wiped away the sweat drops soaking his fleshy upper lip. “Today’s merchandise is particularly choice, if I may say so. I do hope, my Lord, that you won’t go home empty handed.”  
  
“Excuse me, Decius.” Gaius looked over the portly man’s shoulder. He had neither the time nor inclination to chitchat with this pretentious, fawning bore.  
  
“Do enjoy yourself, Lord Fabius. And, please, give my most warm greetings to our Emperor.” Decius bowed and wandered off, no doubt to ingratiate himself with another visitor.   
  
“He’s a fucking pompous swine, but his auctions are usually worth the effort,” Gaius grumbled out of the side of his mouth.   
  
The stifling space was filled to capacity with aristocrats of all shapes and sizes. All of the men appeared relaxed and jovial. The anticipation of taking home fresh flesh to fuck, enhanced by Decius’ generous supply of fine Falerian wine, had put all the guests in jolly good moods.  
  
“Over there!”  As he pointed, Gaius’s pressed, determined lips melted into a sly smile and his eyes crinkled with delight. Despite the crowds, it wasn’t too difficult to spot the distinctive profile of Lucius Petronius Celsus. Towering over a group of men across the room, the tall and stocky brunet appeared to be entertaining his companions with one of his absurd, vulgar jokes. Gaius had heard all of Luc's jokes, many times.  
  
“Come, Maximus!” Gaius forged a path through the exuberant mob. Although they were frequently stopped by a pat on the shoulder from this or that fellow, he ensured that they never lost momentum. He'd seen Lucius Petronius a few days past, but he barely had an opportunity to touch his handsome friend, let alone fuck him.   
  
From the elevated auction stage, a bearish, olive-skinned auctioneer hollered above the clamor. Aristocrats paused their conversations to assess a naked blond boy standing on the platform, his eyes downcast and his thin arms folded neatly behind his back. A wooden placard touting his attributes dangled from a cord tied around his slender neck. Gaius stopped briefly and glanced at the scrawny thing.   
  
Max asked, “Should I get more information about that one, sir?”  
  
“Don’t be daft. It’s too skinny and too young for my tastes. And besides, I already own a blond pet. Lovely Nicomedes might be an impetuous imp, but he’s  _my_  blond imp.”  Gaius scoffed with a smirk. “Lord Petronius has something particular in mind for my consideration. Not that I expect to purchase a damn thing here, but what’s the harm in humoring our dear solicitor?”  
  
“Gaius!  Over here!”  Lucius Petronius frantically waved his burly arm like an eager schoolboy. Sharply dressed in his formal senatorial garb, his muscular frame cut a path through the pack. His light blue eyes sparkled with desire as he hurried forward and wrapped his long arms around Gaius Fabius’s torso, hugging him a bit longer than was wise in such a public venue. Clearly Lucius had imbibed a tad too much wine.  
  
“Let go of me, you colossal twit.” Gaius chuckled in his raspy voice, pushing him back a step. They had to be careful. People were watching.   
  
“You made it.” Lucius cooed.  
  
“I promised you that I’d be here, and here I am.”  
  
Lucius curled his large hand around his lover’s firm bicep, and pulled Gaius towards a spot to the left of the auction dais. “Come. I arrived early to claim a prime couch for us. We’ll have a clear view of the sale, and a sneak peak at the naked lovelies waiting in the wings. You are here just in bloody time!” He slurred, far too loud.  
  
“In time for what?”  
  
“For the scrumptious delight that I mentioned last time we saw each other. You haven’t forgotten, have you? You’ll be interested. I’m quite sure of it.”  
  
Gaius leaned in and whispered seductively, “I’m interested in fucking you, Luc.”  
  
“Later.  You’re coming to dinner tonight,” Lucius answered brusquely. Then he moved closer and spoke very softly into Gaius’s right ear. “Listen, gorgeous. Aurelia and Petronia are off visiting Aurelia’s cousin.  I swear that we’ll have the house to ourselves this time. I’ve told Euphronia to prepare something decadent, with ladles of creamy sauce that I intend to lick off of your—everything.” Luc stuck out the pink tip of his tongue and wiggled it. “Now lie down and let’s enjoy the festivities. It shouldn’t be long before the delightful creature is offered up.”  
  
They both stretched out along the cushions, face to face, torsos raised on their elbows, while scantily clad servants brought over drinks and tasty tidbits.  Max stood behind the couch, ready to attend to his patron’s every whim.   
  
The clang of the cymbals rang out and the blond boy’s bum had a new home.    
  
As the dealer’s assistants prepared for the next item, they scooted closer and watched the stage being cleared.  
  
“So, Lord Petronius. Tell me more about this creature.”  
  
“A dark-haired provincial delicacy. Or so I'm told. I ran into Decius on my way to the courts and he raved about his new acquisition for this auction. Drooled, actually, the disgusting pig.”   
  
“Dark-haired?  As dark as yours?”  
  
“Darker. Pitch-black locks, Gaius. You don’t have a dark-haired thing, do you? Decius, the dolt that he is, thought that I’d be interested. Offered early purchase rights to me. Me?  Of all bloody people!  The clown doesn’t know his own greased paw from a courtesan’s stained lips.”  Lucius collapsed into cackles. His strong, sculpted features still managed to look spectacularly handsome.   
  
“Then it’s a girl?”  
  
Luc slapped his shoulder. “Of course it’s a girl! You, my dear Gaius, have enough fuck boys for both of us.  Well, that’s debatable, I suppose. Anyway — your exquisite bitch, Callidora, is getting long in the tooth. You need a fresh serving of muff, my dear.”  
  
“So now you’re deciding where I’ll dine  _and_  what I’ll fuck?” Gaius clenched his jaw. Lucius Petronius could be such a bossy bastard—sexy, but pushy. Always the lawyer! Sipping his wine, Lucius smiled at him coyly. As he opened his mouth to answer, the auctioneer’s voice bellowed through the space.   
  
“Gentlemen, may I direct your eyes to this nubile nymph!”  
  
“Ah, that must be her!  You have to confess that she’s fucking splendid, right?” Luc crowed, and tossed back another gulp.   
  
Peeling his gaze off his lover’s face, Gaius appraised the naked thing now on the auction block. A slender young girl of no more than fifteen, she sported shiny waves of black tresses that flowed down her back to her waist, and full breasts that were firm and pouty. Her skin was as creamy as milk and her features impossibly delicate. Deliberately, as if she’d been instructed, she lifted her face and smiled in the direction of their couch. However, something far more appealing, standing off to the side of the platform, caught Gaius’s eye.   
  
“I was told that she’s from hardy mountain stock.  Good bones, sound and quick-witted. Look at that lovely smile! You’ll enjoy her for years.” Lucius gushed.  
  
Gaius stared, his moist lips parted. His cock stiffened, tenting the folds of his tunic.   
  
“Gaius, send Maximus down to the dealer’s table. Gather her details and demand a private inspection.” Lucius urged.  
  
Gaius gnawed on his bottom lip.  
  
“Gaius?”  
  
Finally, Gaius uttered, “I’ve never seen a creature so — magnificent.”  
  
“Ha!  I knew you’d be pleased.  Max, go speak with the auctioneer’s assistants about her attributes and report back to us— the attributes that Lord Fabius can’t already see, that is.”  
  
“Commander?” Max asked.  
  
“Hmm?”    
  
“Should I get more details, Commander?”  
  
Gaius snapped out of his trance and turned. “What?”  
  
“Details about that slave girl, sir?”   
  
“For fuck’s sake, no! Max, come closer.”  Max leaned down within range of his former master’s soft, lusty voice.   
  
“Do you see that ebony-haired Adonis standing just off the stage?”  
  
Max squinted, while Lucius studied the silhouettes that stood waiting in the dimly lit corridor on the side of the auction dais.  
  
“The, ehm — the  _bearded_  one, sir?”  Max responded, scratching his head.  
  
“Yes, that one.” Gaius leaned forward and pointed.  “Shit, look at him. What an exotic beauty. He’s not some garden-variety Greek toy, that’s for sure. Go learn everything you can about that creature, Maximus. Quickly!”  
  
As Max trotted off towards the stage, squirming his way through the crowd, Lucius began laughing, tears welling up in his eyes.  
  
“You are joking, right?”  
  
“Why?” Gaius snapped.  
  
“A bloody bearded barbarian? Oh, Gaius — sometimes you are so fucking predictable. I should have known, love.”  
  
“He’s stunning, Luc. Look at those long, sinewy limbs and that exquisite voluptuous bum. It’s hard to say for sure from this distance, but his dark hair looks excessively coiffed, don’t you think? These crass dealers so often err on the fussy side in terms of presentation. But no matter, that can be easily fixed.”  
  
Luc rolled his eyes. “He’s drugged.  Look at the way he’s standing, bobbing and staggering back and forth.  There’s no way to know his true nature when he’s doped up on whatever concoction they forced down his throat.”  
  
“That’ll wear off.”  
  
“Yes, it will. And when it does, you, my friend, will have a wild savage on your hands.”  
  
Gaius smiled, glancing sideways at his companion. “He will require a firm hand. That’s a given. I’ll break this colt myself.”  
  
“I hadn’t realized you were looking for a project, darling.” Lucius groaned.  
  
“It must be the will of the gods.”   
  
“Now you’re a philosopher as well? Horseshit! Do not bring the gods into this. It’s the will of your insatiable cock, darling. A powerful force of the cosmos in its own right.”  
  
Max reappeared, panting.  
  
“What’s the report?” Gaius asked.  
  
“A Dacian, recently captured by scouts during a reconnaissance mission along the mountain border.”  Max stopped to catch his breath. “No known diseases or physical faults. The beast is heavily drugged, Commander.”  
  
“Yes, I can see that. Anything else, Maximus?”  
  
“They claim — well, the dealer claims that he’s a virgin, sir.”  
  
Smirking, Gaius turned to his companion.  
  
“Inflating the value, you think?”   
  
“Virginity always brings extra coin.” Lucius winked.   
  
“Does he have a estimated price, Maximus?”   
  
“Six—six hundred silver pieces, Commander.”  
  
“Six fucking hundred denarii! For an untrained Dacian cub? That’s bloody robbery. Perhaps, as my loyal and devoted associate, you could negotiate a cheaper price for me, Lucius Petronius?”  
  
“You really want that furry barbarian, don’t you?”  
  
Turning to look at the stage, Gaius hungrily drank in the alluring image of the beautiful Dacian captive listing back and forth on his feet in the shadows.   
  
“He’s already mine.”  
  
While he and Luc discussed the most effective strategy to lower the slave’s price, the estate guard, Bulbus, came running up behind Max. He whispered urgent words into Max’s ear and then disappeared out the back exit to return to his post.   
  
“Commander, excuse me, sir, but there’s important news.”  
  
“Yes, get on with it.”  
  
“Lord Aelius Hadrianus is headed towards the pavilion with his entourage.”  
  
“Of course he is! Fucking figures.” Fabius tossed his hands up in the air.  
  
“Publius is here? I wondered where our melodramatic queen was hiding on this most lovely of afternoons! How marvelous that he’s decided to grace us all with his noble presence!” After an effete swirl of his hand, Lucius quickly lowered his baritone voice. “You’d better watch out, Gaius. Your dear brother appreciates a luscious apricot as much as we do. If your pup catches his fancy, he’ll outbid you. You may be the emperor’s second in command, but our spoiled twat usually gets what he wants. He is, after all, our Lord Emperor’s choice for heir to the imperial throne.”  
  
“That’s nothing more than a baseless rumor! Marcus has never once made his intentions for the succession clear or certain. No one knows yet who he’ll designate as his heir.”  
  
“Gaius, you’re fooling yourself. Our Lord Emperor surrenders to every demand of our enchanting and formidable empress. And Lady Plotina wants Publius Aelius Hadrianus as heir designate, not you. She’s pressing hard for your little brother to succeed. We both know that.”  
  
Gaius sat up, nostrils flaring and fists clenched. “Stay here and bid for the Dacian on my behalf, Lucius.  And make damn sure I get him.  Don’t overpay, mind you — but get him! I’ll deal with Publius.”  
  
“Good luck, soldier.”  Luc grinned, as Gaius rose to his feet and smoothed his tunic.  
  
“Fortune has nothing to do with it.  Victory hinges on judicious strategy and careful execution.”  Gaius bent down, and growled low and sexy in his lover’s face. “Don’t disappoint me, darling.”  
  
The clash of the auction cymbals sounded.  The raven-haired girl was now the property of a cruel, crippled old codger.  Gaius shook his head in disgust and made his way to the exit.

 

 

~~~~~~

  
Outside of the pavilion, Gaius shouted across the lawn, “Publius Aelius! I didn’t know that you were coming!” His silky voice dripped with feigned affection.  
  
He arms stretched wide open, he marched toward the younger man and his group of attendants. Publius was the closest thing he had to a real sibling — a flamboyant, immature little brat who both annoyed and amused him. He had spent years growing up under the same roof with Publius Aelius Hadrianus back when they were both Emperor Trajan’s young wards. Like most brothers, they shared many adventures, many laughs, and far too many secrets. Up on the Palatine Hill, many unsavory things took place behind the massive bronze doors of the imperial palace.  
  
Publius Aelius dropped his jaw with an audible gasp and hastened his pace, practically skipping into Gaius’s embrace. They hugged and patted and then Gaius shoved Publius back, holding him firm by the shoulders as he stared intensely into his pale blue eyes. The insecure twit cowered under his palms like a skittish slave girl. Publius Aelius was unfit to lead a horse, let alone the legions. Let alone the fucking empire.   
  
“Gaius Fabius!  How — how have you been?” Publius stuttered with a slight lisp, as streams of sweat poured down his forehead.  “Shit, it’s unbearably hot today, isn’t it? I feel like a wax doll in the blazing forge of Hephaestus. I’m positively melting.” He dabbed his soaked brow with a piece of expensive scarlet cloth, and then handed the damp vile rag to his attendant. “What are you doing here? Are you in the market for another plaything, dear brother?”  
  
“I had hoped to find something tempting, but the selection was entirely unimpressive. And the auction festivities are nearly over.”  
  
“Over? But I thought…”  
  
“It was a tedious parade of uninteresting stock — nothing special, and nothing remotely novel. Not a single item would have interested you, Publius, not with your impeccable taste in bed warmers.  What a waste of time! But at least now I can enjoy the immeasurable pleasure of your company.”   
  
Gaius grabbed his brother's head and kissed him hard on both of his slimy cheeks, just above the wiry fur of his strawberry blond beard that barely covered his blemished skin. He caught strong whiffs of lavender and oriental spices — the twat’s typical, overpowering perfumes. Publius squirmed a bit, and then his voice shot up two octaves as his arms fluttered about.  
  
“What a complete tragedy! I traveled all the way across Rome in this inferno for nothing? Damn, I was so looking forward to perusing some lovely lambs. But, by the grace of Fortuna, it is an unexpected treat to see you, my dear Gaius.”  
  
“A fortunate treat indeed. Let’s sit over there by that fountain.  We must catch up, Greekling.”   
  
“Stop calling me that, Gaius!”  Publius swatted Gaius’ forearm. “You know how much I hate it.”  
  
Gaius wrapped his right arm around Publius's shoulders and began dragging his brother toward the far corner of the garden, away from his entourage.  
  
“Rubbish!  You love that nickname — you always have. Come sit with me for a while. It’ll be cooler in the shade. We wouldn’t want your fair skin to get burned by this sun. Lady Plotina would be furious if her little Greekling returned to the palace all pink and blistered.”

 

~~~~

  
It was suffocating inside the pavilion. The dazed captive could barely stand, and the assistants were bickering about who would hold him upright for inspection. Meanwhile, in the audience, men were mulling about, some too tipsy to walk, others falling asleep, while still others were distracted, deep in conversation.   
  
Over by the side of the stage, stretched out along the couch, Lucius squashed his face with his palms and yawned.  
  
“Max, I’m bored. Come sit next to me.” He patted the woven fabric of the couch cushion.  
  
It was a strange request, likely encouraged by too much drink, but an invitation that he knew Max could not refuse.  Lucius Petronius was a powerful man — only a step or so below Gaius Fabius on the political ladder of Roman aristocracy. Of course, that made his clandestine affair with the auburn-haired general all the more dangerous. Lucius realized the perilous risks long ago, back in Athens when he first seduced Gaius in the courtyard that night. By the gods, he missed those carefree college days! Now, as chief legal counselor to the emperor, he was playing with fire.  If those weasels in the imperial court ever discovered that he and Gaius Fabius were lovers, both of their reputations would be destroyed.  Roman men didn’t screw each other senseless.  They had slaves and wives for that.   
  
“As you wish, sir.” Max gingerly sat down on the edge of the couch.  
  
He handed the freedman a cup of wine. Max pretended to take a sip. “It is very good wine.  Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Tell me, Maximus. How do you like your new freedman status?” Lucius smiled and moved closer.  
  
“Very well, sir.  Commander Fabius is a generous man.”  
  
“To you, perhaps.  With me, he’s a selfish prick!  I’ve been trying to convince him for years to sell your divine body to me. And now it’s too late.” The Roman’s exaggerated look of disappointment quickly turned preposterously pathetic. “Do you think the cruel bastard freed you only to deny me my one true desire?”  
  
Max shrugged at the odd question. He was kidding, of course. Yes, he’d fucked Gaius’s beautiful Ethiopian slave several times over the years. Maximus was an eye-catching, tasty treat that he and Gaius enjoyed sharing sometimes. But he felt nothing special for him. Lucius smiled as he thought about his own statuesque pet, Bryaxis. He adored his precocious rascal more than he cared for anyone. Well, perhaps not everyone. Luc sighed, as Max lifted the cup again and swallowed a real gulp of wine this time.  
  
Reaching out his right hand, he carefully rubbed a spot on the back of Max’s neck, and felt shivers run down the freedman’s spine.   
  
“What is this, Max? It looks like dried blood?”  
  
“Um, I’m not sure, sir.  I suppose it could be blood.”  
  
“Why is that?”  
  
“I ran into a bit of trouble on the way here, sir — a drunk centurion and his henchmen attacked me. Commander Fabius took care of the situation, sir.”  
  
Lucius laughed and then mumbled, “I bet he did. A street brawl I take it, then?  Knowing Gaius, I’d wager that's one officer who sorely regrets his daft mistake.”  
  
“He’s dead.” Max spat out flatly.  
  
Luc raised his eyebrows and then shook his head as he chuckled.  
  
“Well, that’s about as regrettable as it gets, isn’t it?”  
  
Max flashed him a bright, flirtatious smile. He could never fault Gaius for his excellent taste in enthusiastic, attractive boy toys. Slave girls, especially untrustworthy wenches like Callidora, on the other hand? Lucius didn’t understand why he had kept the old whore for so many years, or why for that matter his friend needed another boy. Gaius had his talented blond faun, Nicomedes, and now beautiful young Simon. And, freedom or no freedom, the man still had Maximus by the balls.   
  
“Tell me, Max. Why do you think that your patron is interested in this untamed, hairy beast?”   
  
“Perhaps the commander craves more war booty,” Max whispered, as they turned to watch two monstrous oafs drag out the good-looking, dark-haired young warrior. The naked, disoriented creature was pale and shivering; his limp toes scraped along the wooden boards of the platform while an auction sign swung to and fro from a cord around his neck. The Dacian’s large eyes were heavy-lidded and unfocused.   
  
Lucius leaned over and waggled his dark brows. “Show time!”

 

  
~~~~

  
On their way over to the bench beside a fountain on the other side of the garden, Gaius casually plucked a pink rose off of a bush.  When they reached the marble seat, he carefully threaded the thorny stem through the thick reddish-golden curls above Publius’s left ear. “For you, Greekling. Sit.”  
  
Publius slowly sat down and folded his arms over his stomach. “Gaius, I’ve missed you. The palace isn’t the same without you.” He pouted, looking down at the grass.   
  
Gaius rested his hand on his brother’s bony shoulder. “How is our dear lord father?”    
  
It had been too long since Fabius had paid his respects to the emperor — far too long. He would have to rectify that, and soon.  But first, this auction business needed to be wrapped up, quickly.  He sat down next to his brother, hip brushing up against hip.  
  
“Restless and ornery.  Peace doesn’t agree with Marcus, as you well know. But father’s keeping himself busy lately with his grandiose public projects.  He’s entrusted that arrogant Greek trickster from Syria to oversee the construction of the new forum. What a farce! Have you seen what that incompetent fool has proposed? I could have come up with a design much more worthy of our father's glorious triumphs.”  Publius sighed in dramatic defeat, as he unfurled his arms and rested his furry chin on his fists.  
  
“Apollodorus is here?  In Rome?”    
  
Gaius had spent much time on campaign in the company of the emperor’s Greek architect and military engineer. He’d be the first to admit that Apollodorus was an arrogant prat, but he was bloody brilliant as well. And the man was a most entertaining dinner companion.   
  
“Sadly, yes.  He’s staying at the palace, marching about and barking orders like he owns the fucking place! He has no bloody respect for me, Gaius!”  Publius's cheeks and neck were slowly reddening.  
  
“Publius, don’t get your tunic in a twist, darling. Appy is just one of those flighty creative types, that’s all. I have no doubt that he admires you.”  
  
Publius dismissed Gaius' words with a flick of his wrist and then raised his eyes. “Yourespect me though, don’t you, Gaius?”  
  
“How could you ask that? Of course I do. Your skills on the battlefield are practically legendary.”  Gaius lied through his teeth, forcing himself not to smirk at the ludicrousness of his own horseshit compliment.  
  
“Do you — do you think that gorgeous lawyer friend of yours, Lucius Petronius, respects me? I mean…" Aelius swallowed. "I was hoping that Lucius would be here.”  
  
“Publius Aelius!” Gaius snorted so hard that he had to stop to catch his breath. “Do you still have a crush on Lucius?”  
  
“No, not really.” Publius slumped his shoulders. “Well, yes — I suppose I do. It’s silly, isn’t it? He barely notices that I fucking exist.”  
  
“I highly doubt that, my brave little soldier. You are quite noticeable.”  Gaius ruffled his locks, messing up Publius’s carefully arranged, fussy hairstyle.  
  
“Really?  Do you think I…?”  
  
Suddenly a massive load of greenish-white bird droppings splattered all over Publius’s shoulder. He jumped up from the bench. “By the gods, I’ve been shat on! It’s a good omen, isn’t it, brother?”  
  
“I can’t think of a more favorable sign, my dear Publius.”  Twisting to the side, Fabius covered his mouth with the back of his hand, as his whole body shook with surpressed laughter.

 

  
~~~~

  
“And last on the block this afternoon, an especially unusual and rare offer for your consideration, gentlemen!” The auctioneer’s call trumpeted through the hot air trapped inside the pavilion, causing the guests to rouse from their naps or hush the buzz of their conversations. One of the assistants grabbed the drugged Dacian by the jaw, his fingers pressed cruelly into the boy’s flesh, and lifted his striking face up for a better view.  
  
“A lovely Dacian boy, a delightful treat for those of you who prefer ticklish whiskers and some feisty spark in your toys. Estimated to be around twenty-one years of age. Good health, solid bones. Not trained, obviously.”  
  
The crowd laughed, as one idiot shouted, “Is the shaggy pup at least house broken?”   
  
“I offer two hundred pieces of silver!” Screamed another man.  
  
The auctioneer chuckled and then hollered, “Did I forget to mention that he’s a virgin, ripe for defiling?”  
  
“Four hundred!”  
  
He motioned for his men to turn the naked boy around.   
  
“Surely you noticed this perfectly shaped, delectable and, let me repeat, unsullied bum, gentlemen? You won't find a more round, tighter rump at any auction this year.”  
  
“Four-fifty!”  
  
Lucius eyed the Dacian’s shapely backside for a few moments and then turned. “So, Maximus. Lord Fabius tells me that you’re now the handler for his pets down at the villa.”  
  
“Sir, are you going to bid?  The price is climbing quickly and Commander Fabius was adamant that he not pay too much for it, sir.”  
  
The lawyer grumbled, sat up straight and shouted in his deep, rich voice, “Five hundred denarii!” Then he settled back down and turned his attention back to Max.   
  
“And, as the handler, you are the official fellatio trainer for his boys, correct?”  
  
Max grinned. “It’s an exhausting job, sir.”  
  
“Seven hundred!” Shouted another bidder.  
  
"Oh, for the love of Juno!" Lucius turned his head and yelled in an annoyed tone, “Eight hundred!” Max flinched.   
  
The steep jump in the bidding caused many in the audience to hoot and holler.  Soon the whole building was rumbling with noise — men screaming at each other, curses flying about the space.   
  
Out in the garden, Publius turned his gaze in the direction of ruckus and narrowed his eyes.  
  
“What is going on in there?  Gaius, I thought you said the auction was over? You must have been mistaken, dear brother.”  
  
Fabius raised his eyebrows and shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
“Let’s go investigate this commotion, brother!" Publius bounced up and down on his sandal-clad toes. "It must be something special to cause such a loud fuss!”  
  
“Yes, it must be.” Gaius answered with a blank expression, while his mind screamed a stream of obscenities.   
  
“Hurry, Gaius!” He yelled over his shoulder as Publius began half-walking, half-running towards the pavilion. Gaius easily caught up with him as they both headed for the entrance.  
  
“Welcome, Lord Aelius Hadrianus! Please surrender your weapons.”  
  
“I have no weapons, guard. I have strapping personal escorts to protect me, thank you. Now be so kind as to step the fuck aside!” Publius Aelius could be a rude little cunt.  
  
They walked in, but couldn’t get close to the stage. Men were standing on their couches, waving their arms, downing cups of wine and pointing at bidders who were screaming out numbers.  
  
Frozen in his tracks, Publius drooled at the sight of the bearded boy who had been turned around to face the crowd. Swaying on his feet, the captive’s wrists were held firmly by two auction brutes. One grabbed him by his long, black locks and jerked his face up.   
  
“Gaius, do you see that incredible creature?”  
  
“Yes, Publius.  I see him.”  
  
“Nine hundred and fifty denarii!” Shouted another aristocrat from across the room. Gaius winced at the amount.  
  
“What  _is_  he?”   
  
“He appears to be a Northern barbarian, brother. He’ll be difficult — illiterate, dull-witted and feral. Not your type, to put it mildly.” Gaius gritted his teeth.  
  
“Really?  But he’s so pretty. The lad just needs a long hot bath, and some time with my barber.”  
  
“And two sets of fucking sturdy iron shackles.”  
  
“Gaius, you’re exaggerating now! I’m going to bid on him.”  
  
“It’s your coin, Publius. Waste it however you see fit. Keep in mind that our father would not approve of such a reckless purchase.”  
  
“Fuck him!”  Publius went rigid, and then lowered his voice.  “I did not just say that. But I am bidding.”  He cleared his throated and shrieked, “Twelve hundred pieces of silver!”  
  
“Shit!”  Max blurted out, and Lucius laughed. Max’s eyes were so wide that they practically glowed against his dark brown skin.  
  
Lucius slapped Max on the back. “Ah, I see our dear Publius has entered the fray.  Let the games begin.”  
  
“The price stands at twelve hundred denarii, gentlemen.  Do we have another bid for this virgin Dacian cub?” The auctioneer yelled.   
  
The room quieted, as men mumbled back and forth in hushed voices.  No one was so bold or daft to dare counter a bid by Publius Aelius Hadrianus, rumored heir designate to the imperial throne and vindictive twat extraordinaire. Enemies of Lord Aelius never lived very long.  
  
Slowly, Lucius put down his cup and stood up on his couch. He was an impressive and breath-taking sight at well over six foot tall and broad as a bull. He looked straight at Publius and donned his most charming, seductive smile.   
  
Everyone in the pavilion was silent, looking back and forth between the two men.   
  
Batting his eyelids, he nodded a coquettish hello to Publius.  He lifted his arm and then roared, “Two thousand denarii!”  
  
Standing behind Publius’s left shoulder, Gaius’ grimace slowly morphed into a satisfied smirk. _“Why you gorgeous, audacious son of a bitch!”_    
  
Lucius smiled at his lover and winked.  
  
Publius gulped, awkwardly tossed an exaggerated wink back at Lucius, and then staggered a bit as if the wind had been knocked out of him.  Was he going to vomit? Or faint? Or both?   
  
"Lord Aelius Hadrianus?  Do you wish to make a counter offer?"   The auctioneer asked.  
  
Catching his breath, Publius raised a finger to request a moment's pause and turned to Gaius.  
  
“Did you see that? Lucius Petronius just challenged my bid. And, by the gods, I do believe he’s flirting with me. You were right — he does know that I exist! Tell me brother, what should I do?”  
  
“Let him have the beast, Publius.  That’s a fucking insane price for an untrained barbarian. And besides, if you allow that impudent lawyer to purchase the animal and save face in front of this crowd, he'll certainly owe you a favor or two, won’t he? You never know when Lord Petronius’s famed talents in the courts might be useful to you.” Gaius whispered into his brother’s ear.   
  
Publius closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded, giggling. He cleared his throat again and yelped, “I'm no longer interested!”  
  
“Any other bids?” The auctioneer hesitated, and then declared the sale final.  The bronze cymbals crashed with a thunderous bang, as some men cheered while others shook their heads in disbelief.  Lucius clapped his hands together one time and sat back down.  
  
“Sir, you just challenged and outbid Lord Aelius Hadrianus. And you paid two thousand denarii for a Dacian mongrel.” Max’s mouth was stuck open.   
  
Lucius pinched Max’s cheek and chuckled, “No, I didn’t, dove. Your gorgeous patron did. My dear Gaius is the only man I know who could get away with stealing a shiny new toy right out from underneath princess Publius’ sniveling nose.” Grinning as he licked his bottom lip, Luc reached over and gently lifted Max’s face with one finger. “So, Maximus the Fellatio Trainer — how does your prick feel about scratchy barbarian beards?”

  
  
~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Rome, AD 107**

 

“Two fucking _thousand_ denarii, Luc?”

His head tilted to one side, Gaius Fabius’s amber, feline eyes were not much more than narrow slits and his face was twisted in rage. He screamed at Lucius Petronius. Well, not screamed. More like he whispered, in a completely fucking pissed off way, trying to keep his voice low so as to not draw too much unwarranted attention from the other highbrow guests. Around the hall, men were gathering up their things, saying their farewells and slowly meandering out of the pavilion.  The sun was low in the sky but the stifling heat hadn’t relaxed its stranglehold one iota.

 

Earlier, quite content that he had made a most excellent decision, Publius departed the auction hall to join his waiting entourage. Yes, a most excellent decision, Publius mused, as he sauntered down the garden path in the company of his beefy bodyguards.

Lucius Petronius now owed him a favor. Gaius had promised, hadn’t he?

Publius wasn’t precisely sure what the favor would entail, but he’d figure out something suitable. He scratched his damp, strawberry-blond beard and licked his pink lips in smug amusement.

 

With a wry smirk, Lucius tossed both of his hands up in the air. “Listen, Gaius, you told me to get the furry thing and I did, darling.”

His companion stepped closer, fists pressed against his muscular thighs. Luc’s breath hitched as his thickening arousal pushed against his striped tunic. He pressed his left palm against the fabric covering his groin, trying to settle down his zealous cock.

“Publicly humiliating Publius was not a bright move, counselor.  Fortunately, he’s easily distracted and should eventually forget your transgression.” Gaius backed off, but stepped forward again, pointing his thumb at his own chest. “And, for the record, Luc, I won the barbarian, not you.”

Lucius chuckled as he crossed his strapping forearms. “How do you figure that one?”

“I was the one who convinced the twit not to challenge your outrageous bid, not you and your flirtatious charms.”  Gaius’s anger melted into a cheeky but worried grin. Yes, he was pleased that Publius hadn’t gone home with the Dacian, but he also feared the unknown repercussions of Lucius’s foolhardy antics. Not to mention that the price was a small fortune for an unbroken captive.

Standing off to the side, Max shut his eyes, shook his head and sighed in frustration. He swallowed down the last gulp in his wine cup and snatched up the leather satchel.

“Gaius, listen. We both know that Publius…” Someone tapped Lucius lightly on the shoulder from behind.

“What!”

“Lord Petronius, excuse me, sir. I apologize for interrupting, but the dealer has informed me that your remarkable purchase is ready for private inspection.”

Lucius exhaled and relaxed his shoulders. At last he had a simple way out of this pissing contest with Gaius. Soon he’d be able to head home to prepare for dinner and a night of hard shagging. Sex after a spat was always deliciously rough, always satisfying. Where, by the gods, had he stashed away those shackles after that last time Gaius tied him to the bed and pummeled him into delirium?

He reached down and wrapped his arm around his client's boneless, sunken shoulders. “Gnaeus Decius, my good man!  We haven’t had a moment to chat, have we? You know this lovely Dacian thing that I’ve just purchased?  I’m transferring ownership of the property to my dear friend, Lord Fabius. Apparently, some of us can never have enough pretty toys. And not to worry, our esteemed commander has agreed to cover the bid and all incidental fees, haven’t you, Lord Fabius?”  He looked over his shoulder into Gaius’s fiery eyes and smirked.

Gaius pressed his lips together. “How incredibly generous of you, counselor. Now I owe you a favor in return, don’t I? I’ll settle that debt tonight, Lord Petronius. Count on it.”

Decius glanced back and forth at the two younger, handsome aristocrats. “Oh, my. This is most — most unusual. But, of course, as you wish, sir.”

“Decius, where is this inspection room?”

“I’ll escort you there personally, Lord Fabius.” Decius extended his upturned palm towards the exit. “This way, please.”

“Maximus!”

“Coming, sir.”

Gaius moved close to his friend’s satisfied grin, and spoke low and soft. “You, my dear Lucius, need not be present for the inspection. I’ll see you later for dinner. Have everything ready, yes? I suspect that we’ll both be starving by then.”

As he watched them follow Decius out of the pavilion, Lucius pressed his hand against his groin again and rubbed his palm up and down his shaft. He smiled and silently mouthed, “You’re welcome, darling.”

 

~~~~~

 

The inspection room was little more than a storage space located at the far end of a set of slave barracks that stood behind a large aviary building. Inside the vacant cell, one small window allowed a beam of orange-infused afternoon sunlight to stream into the middle of the room. And at the center, standing in the waning golden spotlight, stood a naked and disoriented Dacian captive named Allerix.

With his limbs still reeling from the affects of the paralyzing drugs forced down his throat, Allerix could barely stand. The same two goons that earlier had dragged him across the auction stage were holding him upright for the purchaser’s personal hands-on appraisal. Alle could hear muffled banter, but he couldn’t see.  His dark hazel eyes wouldn’t focus, and his lids were so heavy that he could hardly force them open more than a crack.

“That was a mad price for a savage, if you ask me!” Grunted one of the brutes.

“Those rich twats have more coin than they know what to do with. Causes the prices for bloody everything to go up!” Griped the other one to his right.

Pacing back and forth behind him, the crabby dealer grumbled. “Enough, both of you!  Greed fuels my profits, you idiots. And my profits fill your stomachs. Where is that Roman bastard? Come and get your new furry toy, and let’s be done with this!” 

With a bang, the door to the inspection room slammed opened. Allerix’s spine stiffened and he tried to swallow. It was time to perform. His family’s honor, not to mention his life, depended on it.

Anticipating the imminent arrival of Decius and his towering brunet patron, the Egyptian’s jaw dropped when he glanced up at the opened door and saw an unexpected aristocrat looming in the threshold. The man wasn’t as tall or broad as Lucius Petronius, but his piercing eyes and his sharply carved noble features, framed by a mess of chestnut spiral curls, were instantly recognizable to most everyone in Rome, including slave-dealing vermin.

“Lord Fabius!” The fabric of the dealer’s tunic shuffled as he practically touched his chin to his knees. “A most welcome surprise to be visited by your glorious and most renowned greatness.”

“This is the Dacian?” Gaius slowly walked around to the side of the group standing at the center of the sunbeam circle in middle of the brick floor. He remained a few feet back in the shadows, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light of the toasty storage space.

“Yes, sir. This is the slave that Lord Lucius Petronius purchased, ready for final inspection. Is he…? Is Lord Petronius on his way, sir?” The dealer stammered. He’d never personally met someone of such high rank as the emperor’s second in command. He was so utterly dazzled by Gaius Fabius’s presence that he didn’t notice when Decius stepped into the room, with a large black man behind him.

“Septus, there’s been a change of plans,” Decius calmly interjected. “Lord Petronius has transferred ownership of the property to our most esteemed Lord Fabius.”

“How wonderful indeed!  I’ve never before had the incredible honor, my Lord Commander, of providing my goods and services to the imperial court.” Septus bowed again, his voice cracking with giddy enthusiasm. "And never to the emperor's most victorious general, conqueror of the Dacian enemy!"

"Shut up, filth, and step aside."

Even though he couldn’t move a muscle, Alle’s pulse began racing. Gaius Fabius Rufus? the bastard who had ordered his legions to ruthlessly massacre Alle’s cousins and countrymen during the wars? He’d never seen the notorious monster himself, but he’d heard his father discuss the blood-thirsty fucker’s dogged lust for victory, no matter what the odds or consequences. As reality sunk in, Alle began to shiver uncontrollably and his body broke out into a cold sweat.

Standing face to face with his new bearded toy, Gaius studied the trembling, drugged slave, looking him up and down for a few moments. Then he nodded in satisfaction. “Payment in full will arrive at your offices in the morning.  I trust that my word will be sufficient collateral for this evening. Now, give me your cloak!”

“Uh, yes, commander.  Anything you wish.” Septus snatched his light summer cloak off a nearby chair and offered it to Gaius Fabius’s outstretched hand.

“Max, grab hold of the slave. The rest of you leave. Gnaeus Decius? Do not go far. I want to speak with you again before I leave for dinner.”

“Yes, Lord Fabius.  I’ll be enjoying my aviary just outside the dormitory. It’s been too long since I visited my feathered friends.”

Septus bowed once again. “Farewell, most renowned Lord Commander.  It has been my greatest pleasure to do business with you, sir.”

“Get out, pig.” Gaius pointed to the door, but then shouted, “Wait, stop! What poison did you give the captive?”

“Poison, sir?”

“The drugs, you dolt.  What are they?”

“Just a simple potion that temporarily disarms the more agitated ones, Lord Commander.  The recipe is a trade secret but it is certainly not harmful.  I assure you that the effects will wear off completely by morning, sir.”

“For the sake of your worthless neck, that had better be true. Leave us.”

Without another word, Septus and his minions shuffled out of the room, Decius following after them. Gaius walked over and closed the wooden door, and returned to stand in front of the Dacian.

“What a spectacular creature.”

Gripping the boy by his biceps, Max spoke over the Dacian’s shoulder with genuine worry in his voice. “Sir, he’s shivering terribly. Perhaps he’s ill, commander?”  Gaius pressed the back of his hand against Alle’s moist forehead. “Yes, I can see that he’s shaking, but it’s not from a fever. His skin is cool to the touch. It’s those fucking drugs, Maximus. This is the last time I will purchase anything from an auction.” Gaius cupped Alle's jaw and lifted his face. “He is strangely beautiful, isn’t he?” Gaius traced a finger pad down the gentle slope of Alle’s small, perfectly-straight nose and then ran it softly across the boy’s impossibly full lips.  “Such a unique face — delicate and graceful, but masculine as well. The whiskers will have to go, but even with them he’s... breathtaking.” 

As Gaius lightly brushed his fingertips over the swell of Alle’s cheek and then over the curves of his arched eyebrows, he sighed. “Thanks to that swine’s vile potion, he’s in a sorry state. His eyes won’t focus, but his lashes are so long and dark and thick.”  He let go of the slave's face and stepped back. “Max, lift his arms up.”

Starting at the wrists, Gaius inspected the Dacian’s arms and upper body, and then squatted down to scrutinize his hairy legs.

“Are you pleased with him, sir?”

“His body is exceptional, but I’m not assessing his beauty. Recently, younger Dacian royals have adopted the fucking foolish habit of immortalizing their high rank with permanent tattoos. Those markings have become extremely valuable on the battlefield for identifying them. According to our emperor’s orders, royal Dacian princes are condemned to death by the beasts in the arena without possibility of ransom. Few know about the royal markings, however. For obvious strategic reasons, we don’t want the idiots to stop tattooing their bodies. All right, he’s clean.”  Gaius took hold of Allerix’s uplifted wrists. “Check to see if there are any markings on the backs of his thighs and calves, Max.”

“Yes, commander." Max crouched down. "There are no tattoos that I can see, sir.”

After handing his new toy back to his freedman, Gaius took each of Alle’s hands into his palms, and ran his experienced touch over the slave’s long fingers. They were strong but smooth and unscarred. They bore no evidence of callouses or other damage caused by hard labor in the fields. Not your average peasant’s hands, for sure. “The magistrates keep careful lists in our archives of every known royal that either died or escaped to the mountains during the wars. I'll need to check those registers. Possession of a Dacian princeling is a treasonable offense. Probably nothing of concern, but you can’t be too careful.” Fabius lifted one of the boy's limp hands and pressed it tenderly against his lips, as he narrowed his eyes. _Who are you, cub?_

Max shifted his feet.  “Will you be keeping him then, sir?  Here in Rome, perhaps?”

Without warning, Allerix pulled away from Gaius’s tender touch and thrashed against Max’s firm grip. He lifted his droopy eyelids and glared blindly. Calm and in control, Gaius stared back, savoring the fierce look in Alle’s eyes — eyes that betrayed an angry, beautiful young man filled with desperation and defiance and raw resilience. He grabbed the slave by his long, damp black hair. “Do not bloody fight me, pet.”

With one last feeble bit of resistance, Alle jerked his head away. Suddenly, his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness as he fell limp into Max's arms. Even though the Dacian was young and fit, Gaius figured that the drugs and oppressive heat and manhandling had taken their toll.

After he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding, Gaius shook his head and laughed. “Well, he’ll be a handful, won’t he? I’m definitely keeping this beautiful feral cub, Max, but not here in Rome. No, definitely not here in the capital. Besides, my lovely bitch of a wife would throw a fit if she discovered a Dacian mongrel wandering about our estate. We’ll transport him down to the villa to be properly trained.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll inform our host that I’ll be leaving the Dacian here in his slave quarters for the night.  You stay with him in the cell, Maximus. Make sure he remains untouched. And fucking figure out his bleeding name while I’m gone.”

“May I ask where you will be, sir?  In case there is, um, an emergency?”

“In Lord Petronius's luxurious bed, with my cock shoved far up his deliciously tight arse. Do not disturb me over some trifle. Handle it. I trust your judgment, Max. And I’ll tell Decius to assign one of his attractive lads to you for anything that you might need.”

Gaius lifted the cloak and carefully wrapped the woven fabric around Alle’s bare shoulders, bundling him in the cloth like a parent comforts a chilled child. He took one more lingering look at the boy’s placid, ashen face and kissed him softly on the lips, before pulling back, his fingers catching in the tangles of Alle’s wet mane of ebony hair. He leaned in again and hummed against the slave’s succulent neck. “I’m going to relish breaking you, colt.”

After he stepped away and readjusted his tunic, Gaius smiled. “Sleep well, Maximus. First thing tomorrow, we’ll leave this suffocating oven of a city and head south for the refreshing breezes of the Campanian coast.”

 

~~~~~~

 

On either side of the portal to Lucius Petronius’s grand house on the Quirinal Hill, two torches sat in ornate metal brackets fixed high up on the wall. The torch on the left was unlit while the one to the right burned brightly. Gaius grinned at the familiar sight of his lover’s simple signal. It was getting dark and his stomach grumbled for food. Looking quickly back and forth down the nearly deserted street, he rapped his knuckles three times against the large wooden door.

After a few moments, the iron bolt pulled back with a loud thud and the heavy entrance door slowly opened, creaking on its hinges. And there he stood, on full display like a prized bronze statue, dressed in a ridiculously short Greek-style tunic that bared his right arm and barely covered his groin. The tall, striking man leaned his shoulder against the marble doorjamb, his long legs crossed at the ankles in a casual way, his arms folded across his chest. A stranger would have thought he owned the fucking place.

“Greetings, Commander Fabius. Why, we haven’t had the pleasure of a visit since… last week, wasn’t it?” The twenty-eight year old flashed his broad, lop-sided smile, while he arched one of his dark eyebrows in defiance.

“I see your ever indulgent master has finally promoted you to doorkeeper.” Gaius snorted, as he pushed slowly passed the slave, undressing him with a leer as he strolled by.

“Among other jobs, Lord Fabius.” The brunet pushed his tongue in his cheek and winked with a mixture of confidence and contempt.

With his strong features and defined, taut muscles, Bryaxis was still powerfully alluring after all these years. Even now as a grown man, not all that much younger than Max, Luc’s favorite remained a delicious treat for the eyes. Gaius unfastened the clasp of his cloak and threw it at his lover’s pet. It had been a long day; he was tired and hungry and horny. “Where is your master, Bryaxis?”

After shaking out the wrinkles, folding the cloth and then carefully draping Gaius Fabius’ cloak over a stool, Bryaxis cocked his head. “Last I saw him, Dominus was pacing back and forth in his office. He seems anxious over something.”

Gaius rushed forward and backhanded Bryaxis across his face.  His signet ring left an impression on the slave's cheek. Gaius grabbed him by his jaw, digging his fingers into his flesh. He jerked the tall slave’s face down. “Why you disrespectful piece of shit. It is not your place to judge Lord Petronius’s mood! You just answer the question and no more.  Do you understand me?”

Bryaxis swallowed and nodded with a slow blink of his wide but still obstinate eyes. “Yes, Commander.”

“Lucius may allow you to strut about as you wish and mouth off freely, but I’ll be damned if I’ll ever tolerate your fucking flagrant insolence!”

After Gaius released his harsh grip, Bryaxis elegantly collapsed to his knees, clasping his hands behind his back and bowing his head towards the vestibule floor. He kept his eyes fixed on the abstract patterns of the geometric mosaic, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Gaius! You’ve arrived at last!”

Gaius relaxed in anticipation of a bear-hug embrace. After two thick arms wrapped around his waist from behind, he felt strong fingers rub lightly across his tunic-covered abdomen. Lucius nibbled his left ear and whispered. “Greetings, my gorgeous soldier. I hope you’ve come with full balls and an empty stomach.”

“You’ll tend to both afflictions, I trust.” Fabius leaned into the hug and placed his hands on Lucius's thick forearms.

“What are best mates for? Pardon me, darling, but what is Bry doing on his knees? Are you two starting the fun and games without me, soldier?”

“Hardly. Your whore needs discipline. But I’ve already told you that, haven’t I? For years.”

Lucius kissed and then murmured into his cheek. “Hush now, Gaius. We both appreciate a bit of pluck in our pets. Bryaxis is a brilliant legal assistant and, as you well know, an even more brilliant lay. A sprinkle of sass only adds to his appeal, no?”

“He’s bloody soaked in sass.”

“Perhaps then you’ll be so generous to help out a dear friend and demonstrate for us some of this famous Fabian discipline this evening.” Luc reached down and ruffled Bryaxis’s golden-streaked brown hair with his long fingers, and was rewarded with a grateful moan. He took hold of a fistful of locks, gently lifted up his pet’s face and looked down into his large, expressive gold-green eyes. “Is that a mark on your face, pet? Ah well, it's not important at the moment. Bry, be a good lad and go inform Euphronia to finalize dinner. Lord Fabius and I will be dining in the garden.” 

Bryaxis rose up gracefully on his impossibly long legs, and nodded silently before strutting off to the kitchen. As the patter of Bryaxis’s bare feet on the colorful tiles faded away, Luc draped his muscular arm around his companion’s shoulders and led him to the wide, colonnaded corridor that opened out onto the lavish, lamp-lit garden oasis at the back of the estate.

“I’ve dismissed all the servants save for the kitchen staff and, of course, Bryaxis. We’ll have him for dessert. Now tell me, Gaius — how was the private inspection? Is your furry Dacian worth all that bloody coin? I want details, darling.”

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Rome, AD 107**

 

Snoring softly on the other side of the small room in the dark slave barracks, the barbarian slept soundly on the stone floor. The Dacian was attractive, for an uncivilized heathen, but nowhere near as beautiful as Nicomedes. Max leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and pictured Nic—his glistening bronzed skin, his mesmerizing sapphire eyes, his playful laugh and his thick blond hair that fell in waves just below his shoulders. Beautiful, damaged Nicomedes. He’d been caged in that bronze contraption for over two months now. Lord Fabius was furious when he’d discovered Nic’s idiotic crime; the cage punishment was less harsh than Max had expected. But, surely the commander didn’t want Nic permanently disfigured, did he? Max rubbed his eyes and shifted his weight on the rickety wooden bench. So much had changed in a year's time.   
  
Last summer, Fabius had brought Max along to one of his secret dinner trysts at Lord Petronius’s grand estate. After he and Bry nibbled scrumptious morsels of meat and cake from their masters' outstretched fingers, the silver dinner plates were cleared and the wine poured freely.  When the sky grew dark, they all retired to the master chamber and the pets performed an acrobatic sex show on cushions strewn about the floor. Bry was brilliantly flexible! And, other than Nic, Bryaxis was the only one who could take every bit of Max’s enormous cock down his throat. From up on the large bed, Lords Fabius and Petronius watched the raunchy spectacle, shouting directions laced with profanities. After the slaves took turns coming all over each other's sweaty faces—twice—Max crouched down on all fours and Commander Fabius fucked him like a rabid wolf. Not two feet away, Lord Petronius bent Bry over a chair and hammered his arse, slapping his bum cheeks warm pink between thrusts. Then the masters switched places. Max narrowed his eyes and smiled. That was a fabulous party.  
  
But Max wasn’t a pleasure slave now. He was a freedman. And on this humid summer night, Commander Fabius had assigned him the dull task of guarding the shackled barbarian lying on the floor in front of him. Yes, everything had changed since last year. When Max took a deep breath, an unexpected whiff of fragrant stew tickled his nostrils.   
  
“Please don’t hit me, sir!  Master Decius sent me.”  A sandy-haired boy cowered in the doorway, his tiny white knuckles clutching the edge of a platter balanced against his prepubescent abdomen. The rattling dishes bounced about and threatened to topple off the tray. Max unclenched his fists, shook his head and scratched his day-old stubble. “Easy, lad. You can put the food on that table. What’s your name?”  
  
“Paulus, sir.”  
  
“Paulus?”  
  
“I’m told it means ‘little one.’”  
  
“Is that so? It’s an apt name for you. Are you a house servant or one of the bed toys?”  
  
“A kitchen slave, sir. My father is the cook.” The young boy squeaked in a mousy voice, as he bent over to place the tray down. Max lifted his brows at the delightful curves of the boy’s firm backside and frowned. “That’s a shame.  You’re lovely. Perhaps, when you fill out in a few years, you’ll be promoted to a pleasure slave.”  
  
Paulus blushed and fidgeted, while he stared at the wall behind the table. After a moment, he cleared his throat and faced Max. “Um, Master Decius said to tell you… t-t-t-o tell you that your dessert will arrive soon. He hopes you’ll be pleased, sir.”  
  
Max laughed at his adorable stutter. “Ah, finally good news then. I’ve a terrible craving for something sweet and luscious.”  
  
“Yes, sir. Enjoy your meal, sir.”  The boy stumbled and scurried out of the cell.   
  
“Skittish little faun.” Max walked over and stuck a thick finger in the rich lamb dish. He sucked it clean with a groan of pleasure. “Delicious. Not Euphronia’s divine cooking, but it’s good. Let’s hope this promised dessert will be even more satisfying.”   
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
“Fabius is fucking here.”  Bryaxis grumbled and wandered over to the array of black pots resting on the grates above the cooking fires. The smoky air was filled with a tantalizing blend of delicious aromas: seasoned duck crackling in a roasting pan, vegetables bubbling in creamy herb sauce and bread baking golden in the oven. After lifting a lid, he reached down to snatch a taste when a small but firm hand whacked him across the back of his head.  
  
“Away from that!  If you’re a good boy, I’ll save an extra portion for you, sweetheart.” Her shrill voice suited her colossal personality. She was short and rotund, with sagging breasts and a jolly, infectious smile that brightened up any room.  Her crown of bright orange curls piled up high on her head, she planted her pudgy hands on her prominent hipbones. Nearly sixty years of age, Euphronia had an aura of authority that only a slave who had faithfully served Lucius’ family for her entire life could carry with such warm conviction.   
  
“They’re dining in the garden, Euphronia.  Dom said for you to finalize the meal.” Bry crossed his arms and slouched against the stone edge of the cooking surface.  
  
“Should I march out there and give our handsome general a big hug and a sloppy kiss?” Euphronia smirked.   
  
Bry winced as he rubbed his cheek. “The bastard is in another one of his foul tempers. He bloody hit me. See the mark here from his ring? Shit, I despise that arrogant prick.”   
  
“Shut your mouth, Bry. I thought I raised you to be smarter than that. Favorite or not, if Dom ever caught you bitching about Lord Fabius, he’d have you whipped. And he’d let Fabius inflict the lashing! Now let me see that bruise of yours, sweetheart.”  
  
As Bry scoffed and shook her off, a skinny slave entered the kitchen carrying a jug of wine. She began gathering up the posh silver goblets from the unlocked cupboard when Euphronia walked over and interrupted. “Daphne, give our poor Bry here a hefty cup of wine. Lord Fabius has arrived for dinner and our boy needs to lubricate his throat before he sucks the general’s foul-tempered cock.”  The freckled girl lowered her eyes and handed a plain, ceramic cup filled to the brim to Bryaxis.  
  
“You’re so fucking thoughtful,  _mummy_.” Bry drawled, dragging out the last word with particular bite, before he slid into a seat at the kitchen table with a grimace.  He cradled his chin in his palm, as Euphronia and the slave girl dashed to and fro, dipping ladles into the pots, tasting the sauces and adding a dash of spice or a splash of cream here and there.   
  
“Do you think he hates me, Euphronia?” Bryaxis asked over the commotion.  
  
“Who? Certainly you don’t mean Dominus. He adores you.”    
  
“No, not Dom. Lord Fabius.”  He swallowed a healthy gulp from the wine cup.   
  
“No, of course not.  Lady Aurelia, on the other hand? Now she hates you, dear. Lord Fabius just hates the idea of you, Bry. That's completely different.” Euphronia looked over her shoulder and tossed him an exaggerated wink.  
  
“What do you mean by ‘the idea’ of me?”  
  
“Daphne, go fetch more fennel and salt from the storage room.” After the girl left, Euphronia sat down across from Bryaxis, folded her hands under her chin and smiled wistfully. “Bry, dear. You’ve been Dom’s favorite —shit, you've been his only bed warmer for over a decade, right? Remember when he hired that Greek tutor for you? You couldn’t have been much older than twelve or thirteen, still fresh from the auction block, all arms and legs, tripping over your own clumsy feet. And look at you now, sweetie. And Dom’s legal assistant no less.”   
  
She leaned in closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “But, Bry—Lord Fabius was here first, long before you arrived. He and Dominus are…” She paused, and blinked. “They’ve been very close ever since they met in Athens. The general's a possessive man. He doesn’t fancy having to share Dom’s affections, nor has he ever been pleased that Dom treats you more like a lover than property. Listen to me, Bry. Don’t challenge that imperial lion, my sweet lamb. Lord Fabius's bite is even worse than his roar.”  
  
She pushed up from the table. “Now, get your spoiled arse up! They’ll be wanting drink to start.”  Euphronia shoved an ornate gilded platter stacked with filled wine cups into Bryaxis’s hands. “If Dominus permits, return in a few minutes to retrieve the first course. You know the drill.”  
  
“Yes, I know the bloody drill,  _domina_.” Bryaxis rolled his eyes and kissed her chubby face, all the while balancing the tray so expertly that not a single drop of wine spilled. Not a single drop, even when Euphronia gave his bum a wickedly hard smack as he left for the garden.   
  
“Cheeky bugger!” She wiped her hands on her dress, and picked up a short, iron poker and rearranged the cooking embers.  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
With a grunt, Gaius lifted Luc's heavy legs off his shoulders and carefully pulled his softening cock out of his oiled hole. He collapsed on top of Lucius’s broad chest with a thump, pools of sweat and ribbons of sticky semen squished between their quaking bodies. They lay on the couch under the garden pergola lights, and recovered as they caught their breath.   
  
Lucius straightened his knees, stretched his calves and groaned. “Loosen the cuffs. My arms are cramping.”   
  
“I’ll decide when to release you, slut. Understand?” Gaius smiled against Lucius’s thick, wet neck.   
  
“Yes, Dominus” Lucius looked up at the lights for a while before he grumbled.  “But seriously, Gaius. My wrists are starting to hurt.”  
  
“Are you going soft on me, old codger? What happened to that filthy whore who used to beg me to tighten the bindings?”  Gaius scooted up, rested his chin on Lucius’s shoulder and tapped the tip of Luc’s nose with his finger. “You are a bloody terrible negotiator. You’ll pay me back in demeaning sexual favors for years, you know.”  
  
“Mmm, no doubt. And I’m only thirty-seven, arsehole—barely two years older than you.” Lucius chuckled and closed his eyes. It was a rare, delicious treat to simply relax and enjoy the pulsing tenderness that throbbed exquisitely deep inside his bum. Gaius leaned over and kissed him lightly on the corner of his upturned lips, before whispering. “And for that stunt at the auction, my foolish captive, you now owe princess Publius a favor as well.”  
  
Luc’s eyes shot open and his muscular arms pulled hard against the chains. “What?”  
  
“How the fuck to do think that I convinced my little brother not to counter-bid your outrageous offer?  He wanted my Dacian, Luc. I had no choice.”  
  
“Fucking lovely. Thanks for that, darling.”  
  
Gaius rolled off, removed the leather bindings, and tossed the padded cuffs attached to chains towards the ground. He crawled back onto the couch and stretched out on his back next to his naked lover. Side by side, they looked up at the darkening night sky. The light from the suspended oil lamps illuminated the silhouettes of brown bats flittering between tall cypress trees. It was peacefully quiet, except for the gurgling sounds of the fountain and the occasional shriek of a gull flying high overhead. The sweltering summer air had finally cooled to a comfortable temperature. Lucius reached down and pulled up his discarded tunic over his satiated body.  
  
“This is perfect, Luc.”   
  
“Almost, but not quite. Next time, use the damn flogger with more force. You bloody well know how I like it. Your feeble tapping was annoying, not arousing.”  
  
Gaius laughed and sat up, his tunic bunched up around his waist. “We’re no longer carefree bachelors, love. How would you explain whipping marks? Ah, to be a bloody fly on the wall for that conversation…” Gaius dropped his chin and adopted a deep baritone voice, as he clutched his tunic in supplication. “On the altar of my ancestors, my sweet Aurelia, I swear to you that these crimson welts striping my arse and thighs are just a nasty rash!”   
  
With his eyebrows drawn together, Lucius pushed up on his elbows. “All right, point taken. And I couldn’t exactly blame flogger welts on poor Bry, could I? But, listen—you’re skilled at covert military operations, yes? So, be creative and figure out how to punish me covertly, and harder. And, for the record, I do not sound like that.” Luc coughed softly, and winked. “Shit, my throat’s fucking parched. Bryaxis, bring us wine!”   
  
Before Gaius had a chance to pull his crusty tunic down over his hips, Bryaxis stood behind the couch holding a tray and beamed his crooked, charming smile. After he handed each of the men a silver cup brimming with one of the best vintages from Lucius’s vats, Bry circled around to the front and placed the tray on a low, marble-serving table. As he bent over, he arched his back like a cat and lifted up his bum.   
  
“Are you ready to begin your meal, Dominus?” Bryaxis donned his most polite and submissive tone.   
  
While Gaius moved over to the other couch, Lucius reclined on the cushions. “Lord Fabius, should we bathe before drowning ourselves in Euphronia’s exceptional cooking?”  
  
“I’m fucking famished, Luc.”  
  
Lucius shook his head and snorted. “Very well.  Bryaxis, fetch the first course and dismiss the kitchen staff to their quarters.  And double check that all the doors to the garden are locked.  We wouldn’t want any unfortunate interruptions.”  He grabbed the back of one of Bry’s thighs and squeezed it. “Thank you, pet. And Bry, bring back a freshly laundered tunic for this brute. He seems to have soiled his garment." Luc rubbed the chafed skin of his left wrist.  
  
“That’s a load of horseshit. After all these years, I still have excellent aim.” Gaius’s dimples dotted his mischievous, sexy grin.   
  
While Bry strolled off towards the kitchen, fighting the urge to glance back at his master, Luc leaned over from his couch and whispered, “My aching rump agrees with you, Lord Fabius.”  
  
With a snicker, Gaius pushed himself up on his arm and shouted at Bry’s back from across the garden. “Give my beautiful Euphronia a big, sloppy smooch from her favorite soldier, whore!”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Rome, AD 107**  
  
  
Allerix woke up with his head pressed against something cool and hard and wet. Without moving a muscle, he kept his eyes closed and assessed his situation. His wrists were securely joined behind his back with what felt like rope that chafed his skin, and both feet were bound together by heavy bindings at the ankles. Probably shackles. They felt more like cuffs than rope. No blindfold, no gag. His furry cheek was resting in a puddle of drool. He was naked, but a cloth of some sort had been draped over his body. His bladder was full and his stomach was painfully empty.   
  
Lying there on the floor, he tried to recall what had happened after they’d been grabbed and carted to the enemy’s capital. He and Gorgas were separated from the other dozen or so captives and thrown into an empty cell. He’d been forced to swallow some bitter liquid; he could still taste tartness in the back of his throat.  There was a stage of some sort, and a tent packed with faceless men shouting and laughing, a storm of noise and suffocating heat.   
  
Alle swallowed.  _Where was Gorgas?_    
  
After their capture, he’d been chained to him on the floor of the wagon. They hadn’t spoken for most of the long journey from the mountains. What was there to say? That his young, headstrong friend was an idiot for thinking his horse could outrace a fucking deer? That Alle was an even bigger idiot for chasing after him? Istros had warned them not to hunt too far from the camp, to not stray beyond the river. Alle squeezed his eyes tight and swallowed again.  
  
He heard noises—animal-like grunts and groans—coming from somewhere close. His face half-hidden behind a curtain of dark bangs, Alle slowly opened one eye. Although the room was fairly dim, he could see two figures over by the doorway. A pale, light-haired youth crouched down on his hands and knees, bobbing his head up and down between the bent legs of a giant man seated against the wall. In his short twenty-one years, Alle had never seen an ebony-skinned man before. He stared wide-eyed at the man’s glistening sable skin and his dazzling white teeth.  
  
The black man’s mouth opened wide and he let out a deep, raspy moan. After a moment or two, he gently lifted the boy up to his knees by his long, flaxen hair and reached into a pouch strapped to his torso, pulling out three pieces of bronze. “Here, take this—that was bloody delicious. It’s a modest amount, I confess. You certainly deserve more.”  
  
The blond held both his hands up and leaned back on his heels. “I can not accept your coin, sir. Dominus does not expect payment from his guests.”   
  
“Shh… it’s for you. Your master will never know. Stash it away for the day when you are freed.”  
  
Wiping his flushed lips with the back of his hand, the sex slave cocked his head. “How do you know that I’ll be freed, sir?”  
  
“We’re all freed at some point, lamb—either by our masters or by death.” He glanced over at Alle, who quickly shut his eye.   
  
 _Shit!_  
  
“Go now, lad. Be sure to tell Lord Decius how pleased I was with dessert.”  The metallic pings of coins and a gentle humming faded away down the hall.   
  
“So, you’re awake then.  No need to pretend any longer, Dacian.  Open those big eyes of yours.” Several moments of silence passed. Perhaps the man would assume that Alle was an uneducated peasant who didn’t understand the foreign words.   
  
“Hey!” The man shouted. Allerix opened both eyes wide but remained frozen in his bound position on the floor.  
  
“Well, that’s a start.  You’ll have to learn how to talk, you know.”  The man looked around the cell for something. “Shit, you’re going be a lot of work. You’d better hope that Dom finds you worth all the trouble. And all that bloody silver.”    
  
Allerix blinked, but kept his eyes fixed on the black man until he walked out of his line of sight.  Something metallic and hollow scraped against the stone floor. He was jerked up to a standing position, and struggled to keep his balance. Steadying him with a firm, forceful hand, the man pushed a bronze pot up against Alle’s bare thighs and barked, “Empty into this before you piss all over the floor!”  
  
Alle stood still, despite the pressure threatening to burst his bladder.  
  
“I said piss in the pot!”    
  
Alle remained still, and silent.  
  
The black man lifted his own tunic and pointed inside the vessel with the exaggerated gestures of a teacher instructing a naive child.  Within a few moments, he drained into the bowl and shoved the container under Alle’s limp prick.  “Piss!”  Alle nodded and relaxed his muscles. As his heavy stream splashed into the basin, he leaned against the man’s broad shoulder.  
  
“Good.  You learned your first word. Now, let’s see if you’ll eat this stew that I saved for you.  It’ll be cold by now, but it’s good.”  
  
After he discarded the pot, the man pushed Alle down to a seated position in the corner, and rewrapped the cloak around his naked body.  He held up a bowl and stared as Alle hungrily wolfed down the meal. When he was finished, the man wiped the residue off Alle’s mouth and wooly chin with the edge of the cloak and sat back, studying him carefully.  After a few moments, the black man shifted his position and spoke.  
  
“I am called Maximus.”  He said slowly, pointing at his chest. Then he pointed at Alle. “What is your name?”  
  
Without uttering a sound, Allerix just stared blankly, his heavy-lidded eyes following the exaggerated movements of the man’s hands. To his relief, this pathetically confused, bullshit expression was easy to fake. After a couple more tries, the man called Maximus finally tossed his hands up.  
  
“Shit, you’re a thick one. How will I ever figure out your bloody name, Dacian?”  He mumbled, as he shuffled back against the wall and rubbed his temples.  
  
 _You won’t figure out my fucking name, Maximus._  Allerix twisted his head to the side and smirked in triumph, testing the rope knot binding his wrists.  
  
"Don't bother, Dacian.  You're a slave of Gaius Fabius Rufus now. Get some sleep. We've a long journey tomorrow."  
  
With his hands cupped above his head, Max chuckled and winked.   
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
Captivated by Luc’s steely blue eyes and his perfect physique, Gaius washed down another piece of roasted duck and studied his dinner companion in silence. Shit, he’d missed this gorgeous fucker and his daft jokes. And that sexy baritone voice of his… And those incredibly talented hands…  It was good to be home. Lucius never joined him on campaign any more. Not that they ever enjoyed any time alone together while in the field, but at least he could watch Luc’s bum bounce up and down on those nights when they shagged camp whores in the same room.   
  
“You’ve already described his face, soldier.”  Lucius grumbled, reaching down to grab another bite of food. “What about the rest of him?”  
  
“You were at the auction, Luc.  You’ve seen the creature—firm and lean, not too tall or too short, bit on the hairy side, fucking delectable arse.”  Resting his chin on his fist, Gaius smiled.  
  
“Ah, but what about his mind? Is he clever, like my Bry?”  Lucius reached his thick forearm down the length of his thigh, and raked his fingers through Bry’s honey-brown hair, massaging his scalp vigorously. The slave lifted his chin and moaned softly, pressing his cheek into the side of Luc’s leg.  
  
“Hard to say yet.  He was still dazed and floppy from the dealer’s drugs, those lazy parasites.”  
  
Lucius chuckled. “He’s bound to be feral.”  
  
“True. He’s untamed and fiery. And yet, I’d wager good coin that my Dacian will wind up more disciplined than your pampered Celtic brat there.”  
  
Lucius looked down into Bry’s devoted gaze, tossed his head back and laughed. “I’ll take that bet! My brilliant Bryaxis is a rare gift from Fortuna.”  
  
Propped up on his elbow, Gaius took another sip of wine. Bry’s long and perfectly bronzed body, dressed in a skimpy lime green costume, was sprawled out comfortably on the couch alongside his master’s legs. A gold band in the shape of a cobra spiraled around his arm above the swell of his defined bicep. Traces of coal rimmed his golden-green eyes.    
  
“Fortuna’s gift is getting moldy, Luc. You need to get yourself something fresh, you know.  This slut of yours must be close to Max’s age by now.  You should free him, set him up in some sort of trade like I did with Alexander, and find a younger thing to warm your cock.”  
  
Bry narrowed his eyes and bit his lip as Lucius took a long, slow swig and cleared his throat.  
  
“Don’t be a prick, Gaius. He’s mine for as long as I say he’s fucking mine. I’ll free Bryaxis when I’m damn well ready.”  Luc took another gulp.  “But why did you buy yet another boy? You already have that blond Greek, and your pretty little Simon that I still have yet to meet.”  
  
Gaius peered over the lip of his wine cup. “I wanted him. That’s fucking why.”  
  
“Admit it, Gaius. You’re mercurial, always searching for the next shiny thing. That Dacian won’t satisfy you for long. They never do. Isn’t that right, pet?” Luc pulled Bry’s head up by his hair, leaned down and devoured his pet’s mouth with blatant pleasure, pushing his tongue down his throat.   
  
Gaius curled his upper lip in a snarl. “So, Lord Petronius, your loose-lipped whore here tells me that you’ve been anxious and preoccupied of late.  Is that true? Perhaps Aurelia is finally getting on your nerves, eh?”  
  
Lucius chastised Bryaxis with a glare before he spoke, his voice shaky. He was hiding something—something important. Gaius could see the worry on his face.   
  
“There’s a curious case of embezzlement.  Far too many talents are missing from the imperial coffers.”  Lucius lowered his voice to a whisper. “The most likely culprits, in my opinion, are two or more of Publius’s slimy associates. But the evidence is spotty and our Lord Emperor Trajan wants this resolved. Yesterday.”  
  
“That’s bloody serious, not to mention risky, Luc. You’d better tread carefully.”   
  
Lucius leaned forward and cupped Gaius’s face in his big palm. “It’ll be fine, darling. True, it’s a difficult and delicate situation, especially given that both our Lord Emperor and Publius are involved. But I can handle it. Trust me.”  
  
Luc pulled away and conversation stopped.  They both finished picking at Euphronia’s sumptuous fare on the table, stealing glances at each other and tossing affectionate but strained smiles back and forth.   
  
“I’m leaving.”  Gaius announced, after finishing another bite.  
  
“I know. You always fucking leave in the morning.”  
  
“Rome, Luc. I’m leaving the capital tomorrow, at first light. I need to get my Dacian cub down to my villa and begin his training before the triumph celebrations start at the end of the month.” Gaius didn’t look up. He couldn’t face the hurt that he knew he’d see in those hypnotic blue eyes.  
  
“For how long? You just fucking came home after—what was it, then—a year on campaign.”  
  
“I’m not sure, love.”  
  
Lucius looked down into his cup and mumbled. “Leaving me for your Dacian mongrel?”   
  
“Oh, for shit’s sake!” Gaius grabbed his lover by his short, dark hair and smothered his mouth with a long, hot kiss. Luc’s tongue fought back, wrestling with Gaius’s as they held onto each other’s shoulders for leverage. Gaius broke the kiss, panting.  
  
“I’m not leaving you, you bleating twit. It won’t take long. I’ll be back before you even miss me. You’ve your lovely wife and your slut to keep you entertained in the meantime.” He nodded towards Bryaxis. “How about we have that dessert you promised, if you’re ready for another round so soon, old man.”  
  
With an eyebrow raised, Lucius looked from his lover to Bry. His expression was a mixture of lust and anger and frustration. “Dessert might assuage my poor forsaken heart, Lord Fabius. But, I have one condition.  
  
“A condition? Well, spit it out then.”  
  
“We enjoy him… “ Lucius leaned over and waggled his eyebrows. “Together.”  
  
Gaius’s leer melted into a grin. “You mean at the same time? It’s been a while since we played that game, darling. You’d better prepare him. We wouldn’t want to split your precious gift from Fortuna in half.”  
  
“He’s already prepared. Isn’t that right, pet?”  
  
“Yes, Dominus.” Bry smiled nervously, wiggling his hips.  
  
Gaius rolled back and grabbed his prick through the woolen fabric of his fresh tunic. Bum fucking Luc’s beautiful whore together was an infrequent but exquisite indulgence.  Gaius could already feel himself sliding along Luc’s throbbing length while they were both wrapped inside the tight heat of Bry’s hole. They’d have to try this sport with the Dacian someday, both of their cocks pounding the round, plump arse of his beautiful new cub. Gaius curled his fingers around his girth and pulled hard.   
  
A deep groan snapped Gaius out of his daydreaming and back to the garden. Over on the other couch, Luc’s enormous prick slipped out and then back into Bry’s talented wide mouth.  The arrogant slave did have one fucking incredible mouth. Gaius would admit that much. Without warning, Lucius pulled Bry off by his thick hair.  
  
“Strip and serve up that perfect arse of yours, Bry.”  
  
Bryaxis immediately peeled off his skimpy, expensive costume and bent down over the marble server, dishes and scraps of food crashing all over the garden dining floor. He lifted his bare bum, reached back with both hands and spread his cheeks wide and stayed still, panting softly. Gaius cocked his head and gaped, as Lucius grabbed hold of a cord and slowly pulled a thick, ribbed leather plug out of Bry’s arse. The slave whimpered wantonly while blobs of liquid grease oozed out and dribbled down the backs of his smooth thighs.  
  
“A new toy, counselor?” Gaius raised his brows.  
  
Luc nodded. “Custom made. Not cheap, but no doubt well worth the cost. It’s been stretching him nicely since this morning.”  
  
“By the gods, he rose from his knees like a dancer in the vestibule earlier with that fucking monstrosity packed up his arse? I’m bloody impressed.”    
  
After tossing aside the plug, Lucius stretched out on his back, pulled up his tented tunic, and wrapped three fingers around the base of his rock hard erection. “All right, dove. Let’s not leave you empty. Climb up here.”   
  
Bry rose to his feet and squatted with his back to his master, hovering over Luc’s thick shaft.  He pressed his hole against the head, and then lowered his body down, slowly. He moaned and mewled, delivering a chorus of enchanting guttural noises. When Luc’s length was finally buried up to the hilt, Lucius grabbed Bry by the hips and held him down.  
  
“Fuck his beautiful sassy mouth, soldier.”  
  
Gaius lifted Bry’s face with his forefinger. “Someone’s master is being a right bossy twat today.”  
  
His eyes glazed over, Bryaxis smirked, licked his lips and parted them. Gaius braced Bry’s face with one hand and slid his cock down Bry’s throat up to his balls. When Bry gagged noisily, Gaius almost laughed out loud at the slave’s dramatic horseshit choking. After years of swallowing Luc’s massive member, he knew that Bry could easily handle his more average-sized equipment.   
  
Bry rode his master’s engorged shaft while slurping Gaius’s hard prick until two strong hands grabbed the slave by the shoulders, and pulled him backwards, slamming him against Lucius’s broad chest. Both Luc and Bry remained still for a moment. The angle was awkward and uncomfortable. Lucius gasped over Bry’s left shoulder. “Gaius, get in here. Hurry.”  
  
“Patience, counselor. Get him into position.” Gaius grabbed a glass bottle of oily lube, as Lucius hooked his brawny forearms under Bry’s knees and pulled the slave’s long legs up to his shoulders, spreading his thighs apart.   
  
Lucius whispered into Bryaxis' ear. “Come on, open nice and wide. That’s good, Bry. Relax and enjoy it.”  
  
Gaius lubed and stretched the upper curve of the slave’s rim, as he rubbed two fingers up and down the swollen vein of Luc’s buried cock. He pulled his fingers out, stood up and slathered more oil over his shaft. “Breathe in, whore—nice and deep.”  
  
Bryaxis wrapped both of his hands around Luc’s hefty biceps, leaned his head back and inhaled through his nose. When he exhaled, Gaius plunged into him in one continuous thrust. Gaius felt his balls draw up and shook his head to regain some control. Drops of sweat fell from the tips of his curls and sprinkled over Bry and Luc’s faces.  He braced himself with his palms against the backs of Bry’s thighs.    
  
“Ready, lads?”  Bry squeezed his eyes tight and Lucius nodded.   
  
Gaius set the pace, pulling halfway out and then plowing into Bry’s packed bum.  His hardness rubbed up and down against the sensitive underside of Luc’s pulsing shaft as Bry groaned from the excruciating pleasure and the burning pain.   
  
“Easy there, soldier. Don’t tear my pet in two.”   
  
Gaius bent down, and cupped Luc’s sweaty face in his hand.  “Let’s reward him. I want to feel his tight arse wring us dry.”  
  
Luc lifted his head, kissed Gaius’ mouth passionately and mumbled. “You’re always so generous with the boys.”  
  
Luc reached down and wrapped his fingers around Bry’s prick, while Gaius closed one hand around Bry’s long neck and bent down to nibble on Bry’s nipples. Bryaxis mewled and squirmed. A few final pulls of Luc’s skilled, wet fingers brought Bry to the brink and then over the edge, as he exploded into his master’s hand. Gaius released his brief chokehold; Bry gulped for air and wailed in ecstasy.  As his legs trembled in spasms and his toes curled and clenched, the constricting waves of his orgasm squeezed their encased cocks.  
  
“Fuck, I can’t hold it much longer.” Lucius whimpered against Gaius’s lips.  
  
“Let it go.  I’m there.  Come with me.”   
  
In a furious tempo of alternating thrusts, they both cursed and moaned as they unloaded into Bry’s quivering body. Sweat and semen and oil covered them, as Luc’s desperate, sloppy tongue fucking gradually melted into soft butterfly kisses.  
  
“Shit, that was amazing.” Lucius stammered, dragging his fingers through his damp, dark hair. Gaius collapsed and nuzzled his face into the moist crook of Luc’s neck, while Luc hummed into his lover’s soaked auburn curls, and rested his shaking hands on Gaius’s shoulders.   
  
With his head pushed to the side, Bry choked back a sob, tears rolling down his sculpted cheeks. “Hey, now.” Gaius reached over, cradled Bry’s face and looked into his wet, green eyes. As he wiped the tears away with his thumb, he smiled and whispered. “You’re well past your prime, Bryaxis—but, by the gods, you’re still a damn amazing fuck.”   
  
Bryaxis’s face crinkled as he grinned. “So are you, Commander.”  
  
“Why, you cheeky tom. I should fucking cane you for that crack.” Gaius squished Bry’s face and kissed his puckered, smirking lips before he slid his cock out and pulled him off of Luc. He hauled Bryaxis over to the other couch, lowered him onto the cushions and smacked his bare bum. Gaius turned around, flashed his blinding, dimpled smile and extended his hand. “Time for that long bath, Lord Petronius.”    
  
“Brilliant idea, darling.” Having pulled himself up to his feet, Lucius walked over to the other couch. He gently re-inserted the lubed plug into Bry’s sore bum and covered his shivering pet with a light bedcover. “You’ll sleep here tonight, lamb. Leave this beastly thing in for a while to ease the ache, but remove it when you’re feeling better.  There’s no need to wait for my permission. And enjoy some of that leftover wine. Do you understand me, Bryaxis?”  
  
The night sky was eerily still. Even the noisy gulls had long gone to bed. Bry looked up and smiled, his hair a tangled rat’s nest and his face lightly streaked with dried tears. “I understand, Dominus. Thank you.” Bry’s abused bowels started to twist in angry knots; he curled up into a ball and shoved his knuckles in his mouth.   
  
“Hush, Bry. You’ll recover by morning. I’m very proud of you. Sleep well, pet.” Luc stroked his back and kissed him tenderly on his temple, before he stood up and took Gaius’s hand. They flung their damp tunics over their shoulders and headed off to Luc’s opulent private bathing suite.   
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
“Wake up, Maximus!”  The familiar, loud bellow echoed from the direction of the hallway that connected the cells in Decius’s slave quarters.  Max jumped up and rushed out into the windowless corridor.  Lord Fabius was marching towards him, a small sack slung over his right shoulder. It was just before dawn and most of the servants were still slumbering.  
  
“Commander.” Max bowed slightly and waited for instructions that he knew would fly at break neck speed off of Gaius Fabius’s tongue.  He noticed that his patron looked rested and well fucked.  He should be in a good mood, Max hoped.  
  
“How did you sleep, Max? Decius took care to provide you with a suitable diversion, yes?”  
  
“Yes, Commander. I slept very soundly.”  
  
“And the Dacian?  Was he trouble?”  
  
“No, sir. He’s still weak and disoriented. But he appears healthy and rested quietly through most of the night.  The auction drugs left no noticeable damage.”  
  
“Excellent. You’ll prepare him for travel immediately.”  Gaius affectionately slapped Max on the shoulder and pulled him down the corridor and out into a poorly lit courtyard. The sun was just peeking over the edge of the horizon. Gaius lifted a small glass bottle from the sack and lowered his voice to a hush.  
  
“This contains honeyed milk laced with a strong dose of opiate. That should quiet him until we get out of the city. We need to leave Rome without drawing unwarranted notice.” He gingerly placed the container back in the cloth bag and lifted the strap off his shoulder.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Gaius pointed to two burly, armed men standing off to the side, their heads lowered in deference. “These men are two of my estate guards here in Rome. Despite our emperor’s efforts, there are still rogue bandits attacking travelers along the roads. They will accompany us for the journey down to Campania.”   
  
“It will be our pleasure to serve you, sir.” The larger of the two bowed.  Shocked, Max stumbled backwards a step.  _They call me ‘sir’ now?_    
  
Gaius continued to spew orders, as he pulled Max over to a waiting cart. It had a bench seat up front occupied by a squat driver, heavy leather reins resting in his filthy hands.  The back of the wagon was a large wooden, box-like structure with a curved roof, a gated window and an arched door at the back. It looked like a small house on wheels.  “Decius has offered me use of this sturdy traveler’s wagon with a good team and a week’s supplies. Carry the boy out when he’s fully sedated, keep him shackled and place him inside the compartment, carefully. Blindfold my Dacian cub and latch the cart door when you’ve finished. My horse is ready, so I’ll be waiting for you at the back gate of the estate. To avoid the center of the city, we’ll head east on the Salt Road first and then cut back round south to the Appia.”  
  
“Understood, Lord Commander.”  
  
Gaius handed over the sack containing several containers of the innocuous but potent sedative liquid and turned to collect his tacked mount, before he hesitated.  
  
“Maximus?”  
  
“Yes, sir?”  
  
Gaius turned back around, his brows furrowed. “What’s his name?”  
  
“Um, his name is… Paulus, sir.”  
  
“I don’t care what his fucking slave name is, Max! What’s his birth name?”  
  
“I… I don’t know yet, commander. He doesn’t speak our language. And he doesn’t seem all that bright either.”  
  
“So that’s your report — dumb and dull-witted? I expected more from you, Max.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  Max mumbled, casting his eyes down to the brick herringbone pattern of the courtyard pavement.  
  
“Well, let’s see if our mute little Paulus has the fortitude to survive a long and bumpy ride.”   
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Rome, AD 107**  


Several miles south of the city, the supply wagon rolled along the basalt pavers of the Via Appia. With each revolution, the iron-covered wheel treads scraped against the shallow ruts in the road and squeaked in rhythm with the gentle bounce and sway of the compartment. The mid-morning sun beat down mercilessly on the vaulted roof. Shit, it was warm. After he propped himself up on blankets that covered the plank floor, Gaius Fabius gnawed his bottom lip as he stared down at Allerix’s sweaty, blindfolded face.  
  
“Paulus is an odd name for a slave, but it suits you somehow. I just might keep it.”   
  
His full lips slightly parted, the Dacian slumbered peacefully on his back, wrists tied above his head to the base of the cart’s frame, ankles still bound together loosely with shackles. He was dressed in an oversized, shit-brown tunic with no belt; Max must have found the ratty sack in the stores of Decius’s barracks. Gaius pulled out his ten-inch-long sheathed dagger and ran the carved ivory handle over the curves of the Dacian’s full cheeks, through the bristles of his black beard and down the length of his moist, sinewy neck. Fast asleep from the opiate, the slave didn’t stir. Gaius smiled and leaned down.  
  
“I paid an appalling amount for you, more coin than I spent on Max and Nicomedes combined, and then some. No doubt you’ll be a defiant and bitter little shit for a while, but I’m tenacious. And very patient. It's in my blood. The Fabii are justly famous for protracting our battles and wearing down our opponents. Victory achieved through strategic attrition. You will eventually surrender willingly, cub. It's only a matter of time.”  
  
Gaius wiped his brow, nestled the lion’s paw handle in the hollow above the slave’s collarbone and rubbed his eyes.  The ornamental knife held so many memories of his first deployment. Had it really been only ten fucking years ago that he served in Mauretania and Numidia? All those days and nights spent far from home at various remote garrisons, making frequent sojourns through the North African deserts to the vast imperial quarries. Maximus was barely nineteen, a convicted delinquent forsaken by his kinsman and condemned to the brutal marble yards of Simitthus. He saved Max from certain death that day. And the brave, beautiful fool saved his life in return.   
  
When the wagon hit a bump in the road, Allerix rolled his head to the side, mumbling a string of incoherent syllables. “Time for you to wake up, cub.” Gaius pressed the ivory handle against his windpipe; Alle’s wrists jerked against the bindings as he coughed and tried to sit up.   
  
“Easy, Paulus. You’re safe now, pet. We’ve left Rome.”  
  
Behind the blindfold, Allerix blinked a few times.   _Paulus?_  His throat scratchy and dry, he reminded himself to stay in character and maintain the uneducated peasant charade. Moist, warm breaths caressed his face, as something hard and smooth glided over his mouth and forced its way between his lips.   
  
“By the gods, you have a fucking luscious mouth. Let me have another gander at the rest of my expensive property.” Gaius slowly drew the handle out and hooked the ivory paw under the hem of Alle’s baggy tunic, pulling the rough cloth up and over Alle’s narrow hips to just below his neck. A patch of fine black hair filled the dip of the Dacian’s breastbone, while another dusting encircled his navel and trailed down to thick black pubic curls that framed his flaccid dick. Gaius ran the handle over Allerix’s dark, plump nipples, one at a time, until they were engorged and erect. With a satisfied leer, he stroked the soft shaft with the underside of carved paw, pressing more firmly with each lingering pass until Alle’s prick responded to the teasing friction.  
  
“Very sensitive and deliciously compliant. Perfect. Let’s hear how sweet you sing, Paulus.” Allerix’s breath hitched. He shut his eyes behind the blindfold and balled his fists before he mumbled in a raspy voice.  
  
“ _Ceea vreți de la mă?_ ”   
  
“Ah, so you do speak. I’ve never found your barbaric babble very pleasant to the ears, but your voice is lovely. Sonorous and sensual. You want to know what I want from you, cub?”    
  
Gaius rested the sheathed dagger on Alle’s bare stomach, and wrapped his fingers around the Dacian’s half-hard girth. His brown eyes sparkled with flecks of gold as he rolled his thumb pad over the swollen crown, teasing the slit with languid strokes. Allerix arched his back, and a soft, guttural groan escaped from between his quivering lips.    
  
“I take what I want, Paulus, and now every inch of you is mine. Your moans are delightfully melodic, even more mellifluous than I’d hoped for."   
  
After rolling Alle’s balls carefully between his fingers, Gaius traced two fingers back and forth across the sensitive skin between Alle’s sac and his hole, pausing to rub circles around his rim. “We’re headed down to my villa on the coast. You’ll like it there.  The weather’s lovely and you’ll have companions to play with, when I give permission. Nicomedes and Simon can be naughty scamps, but they’re good lads, really. You’ll learn to adore them.”   
  
When Gaius pushed the tip of his index finger through his puckered, moist ring of muscle, Allerix gasped. He clenched his jaw, and struggled not to cry out in protest.  
  
“I am your master now. Your—what do you call it—your  _stăpân_? You will address me as Dominus. I own you. You are mine, to protect and cherish and defile. Mine alone. Now, tell me your name. Your birth name, Dacian.”  
  
After a long pause, Gaius removed his hand from between the boy’s firm, sweaty cheeks and unsheathed his dagger. He lightly rubbed the cool, flat side of the steel blade over the sensitive peaks of Alle’s hard nipples until he squirmed against the restraints and whimpered in frustration.  
  
“I confess that I’m soft when it comes to punishing my boys. But discipline is necessary—and obedience, my new furry pet, is an absolute.”  Gaius snatched a fistful of Alle’s dark hair, jerked his head back, and pressed the blade against his exposed throat. Alle held his breath and grimaced.  
  
“Sadly, I never managed to become fluent in your language, but I picked up a few words here and there during the wars.” Gaius tightened his grip and growled.  “ _Spune-mi numele tau._  I will not ask again so nicely.”  
  
Alle took a deep breath and parted his lips, when the wagon suddenly lurched to a halt.   
  
“Why the fuck did we stop?” Gaius impaled the sharp point of the knife into a floor plank, inches from Alle’s perspiring face.   
  
“Commander, come quick!”   
  
With annoyed grunts, Gaius scooted up to the front of the wagon compartment and pulled open the shutter of the small, square window. “This had better be bloody important, Maximus!”  
  
“Look, sir—ahead!”  
  
They’d left behind tracts of denser woodlands and reached the summit of a hill. From up on high, an expansive view of the surrounding verdant landscape opened up all around them. Down the paved road, several miles to the south, a large group of men on horseback were headed in their direction.   
  
Gaius squinted into the blinding sunshine. “Twenty, perhaps twenty-five men, by my count.”   
  
“Who are they, Commander?”  
  
Flashes of light reflected off the group’s metal trappings, standards and polished armor. Near the front of the throng, surrounded by riders carrying long rods, a man wearing a vibrant purple cloak sat tall astride a large, dappled grey charger.   
  
“Shit. It’s the emperor. Max, tell the guards to bring my horse round to the back door.”  After slamming the shutter, Gaius wrenched his dagger out of the floor, sheathed it, and shoved his weapon beneath the strap wrapped around his chest. He covered Alle’s body with the tunic and gently carded his fingers through the Dacian’s thick, disheveled hair. “ _Stai liniștit, sau ești mort._ Do you understand my pathetic garble, or do I need to gag you?”   
  
Alle gritted his teeth and complied with a nod. “ _Liniștit._ ”   
  
“Good. You’re a smart pup. Stay quiet,  _căţel_.” Gaius kissed the tip of his nose, as he ran his fingers over the soft mounds of Alle's lips. “We’ll continue our playtime later, my pretty Paulus.”  
  
As the rapid clatter of horse’s hooves faded away, the wooden wagon door slammed shut and a metal bolt locked with a sharp click. Allerix pulled on the ropes, testing the strength of the bindings around his wrists. They were tight and unyielding.  
  
Allerix collapsed and cursed under his breath. “Fuck you, you savage son of a bitch.”

  
~~~~~

  
Even after twenty years, the imposing sight of his adoptive father still threw Gaius off kilter. Although Marcus was much older now, a few years past fifty, his natural aura of authority was dazzling. Marcus Ulpius Traianus was perfect, in an impressively imperfect way—a larger than life but sensible man. A man whom Gaius coveted to imitate, success after glorious success. But the great man had also taught young Gaius other lessons long ago—when best to surrender and what he would have to endure to navigate the treacherous waters of the imperial court. He idolized his mentor, and despised the prick.  It was complicated.   
  
“My most warm greetings, Lord Emperor.” Gaius bowed his head, pulling back on the reins to steady his excited, sweaty horse that pawed at the ground and snorted wet globs of mucus from its flaring nostrils.   
  
As he narrowed his brown eyes, set deep below his prominent brow, Marcus kicked his large steed forward through the wall of attendants until he was alongside his adopted son. “What are you doing down here, Gaius? You are supposed to be joining us in Rome for a spell.”   
  
“Yes, my Lord. I’m on a brief trip to transport much needed supplies down to Campania.”  
  
Marcus raised a thick eyebrow. “What sort of precious cargo requires the personal escort of my second in command?”  
  
“Imported fabrics, mostly, and some weapons and farming equipment for the harvest, my Lord. I will return to the capital shortly and pay the court a long overdue visit.”  Gaius blinked and dropped his gaze. He still couldn’t look Marcus directly in the eyes when he lied to him.  
  
“Nonsense.  You have my permission to send your supply wagon down to your villa. But you, Gaius Fabius, are returning to Rome.  You’ll accompany me for the journey.  We’ve spent far too little time together lately and I need your assistance with projects in the capital.”   
  
Gaius glanced at the distant wagon, and swallowed. “Yes, my Lord.”  
  
“Come." Marcus tapped his horse forward to a slow walk. "Tell me all about your latest adventures. I’m forced these days to live vicariously through you and Publius, and your brother’s debauched escapades are a tad predictable and tedious. How I wish we were still on campaign together, you and I, smiting the barbarian hoard.  Peace is such a fucking bloody bore.”   
  
As they neared the covered supply cart, Gaius asked, “May I deliver instructions to them for the journey, father?”  
  
“Of course.  Is that your Ethiopian sitting next to the driver?” The emperor tilted his head towards the bench.   
  
“Yes, that’s Maximus.  I granted him conditional freedom shortly after I returned from Dacia, my Lord. He’s been my devoted servant ever since I served as your tribune in Numidia, and I expect he’ll be a trustworthy client for many more years.”  
  
“It’s wise to reward loyalty, Gaius. I’ve taught you well. Your skinny lad certainly has grown into an impressive hulk of a man.”   
  
When the imperial entourage reached the wagon, Max climbed down off the seat and bowed low to the ground before the emperor. He held his respectful, suppliant posture until Marcus addressed him. “Greetings, freedman of Gaius Fabius Rufus. You may rise.”  
  
“Greetings, our most esteemed Lord Emperor. It is a great honor to be in your presence, my Lord.” Max spoke with perfect tone and diction, a far cry from the heavy-accented, choppy slang he spewed a decade ago. Gaius grinned with pride as he nudged his horse forward. “Maximus, our Lord Emperor has kindly granted permission for you and the guards to transport the supplies down to the villa. I am returning to the capital. Be sure to safeguard my property and store it properly when you reach my estate.”  
  
“Yes, Commander. Do you wish me to manage anything in particular during your absence?” His head cocked to one side, Max stared wide-eyed and hopeful. “Perhaps the situation with Nicomedes, sir?”  
  
Gaius narrowed his gaze.  “Simply see that my new purchases are secured with care and protected from damage. Have Simon assist you. I’ll dispatch further instructions shortly. Do you understand, Maximus?”  
  
Max clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his chin. “Yes, Commander. We will await your orders, sir.”    
  
“Have a pleasant and uneventful journey, Max.”

  
~~~~~

  
Surrounded by lush formal gardens and the green canopies of tall pine trees, the grand imperial palace stood on the top of the sacred Palatine Hill, high above the stench and disease that infested the lower quarters of the capital during the oppressive summer months. Here in a private apartment on the southern side of the residence, reflections of ornate furniture, sumptuous woven fabrics and gilded candelabra bounced off the polished marble walls. The cavernous space glowed in ethereal hues of crimson and gold.   
  
Restless as a caged tiger, the emperor shifted his weight on a high, cushioned stool by a tall window. The heavy purple curtains were pulled aside, permitting just the right amount of late afternoon sunlight to illuminate Marcus’s robust, aquiline features. Down below in the valley, the sandy arena of the enormous chariot-racing track was quiet. The seats of the Circus Maximus were empty today. Races would not be held again for another fortnight, not until the opening ceremonies for the triumphal games.   
  
“Aren’t you finished with that bloody damn thing yet?  My arse is getting sore!”  The emperor hollered in his commanding bass voice. A few feet away, an artist’s fingers shaped a chunk of reddish clay on a table, an assortment of metal carving tools at the ready.   
  
“Almost done, my Lord Emperor Trajan. Just need to get your nose right.  A bit more of a curve here on the bridge, I think.  Just. One. More. Moment.”  
  
“Rubbish!  I’m finished, and so are you, maestro.”  
  
“But… but my Lord.  Only a few more moments, I implore you. We need the model finished in time for the bronze casters at the foundry.  Your victory celebrations are less than two weeks away, sir.”  
  
“The sculptor’s right, you know, father. The magistrates have already set up the statue bases for your triumphal parade. They are expecting a new image for the festivities, not that your face ever ages in those portraits. You could just as easily recycle last year’s model, sir.” Gaius interjected, chuckling. After he readjusted the heavy folds of the cloth draped over his arm, he walked over to the window and bowed. “Greetings, my Lord.”   
  
Marcus grinned from ear to ear. “Gaius, my boy, you’ve come to my rescue!  I knew you were my favorite for a reason. Yes, last year’s model would work splendidly. And it would save me the tiresome ordeal of sitting here all afternoon doing fucking nothing. He can just rearrange the hair a bit or change something else trivial so that the traditionalists in the Senate won’t know that I’ve reneged on my duties.”  Marcus laughed and rose to his feet, as he wrapped his arm around Gaius’s shoulders, and leaned in close to his ear. “And besides, who wants to age?  I thought I was rather dashing in my mid-forties. Didn’t you think so? Or perhaps you preferred me in my lusty, youthful thirties?”  
  
Gaius’s half-hearted smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Be mindful, father.  The gods disapprove of vanity.” He fidgeted with his toga folds and winked cheekily, before stepping away. Still taller by a head, Marcus grabbed Gaius by the bicep, and pulled him closer. In the background, the dejected sculptor scurried about, wrapping up the clay and collecting his tools.   
  
“Never fear the gods, Gaius Fabius. They’ve stood beside us, victory after victory. Don’t ever forget that mighty Jove has blessed us with his divine favor. And don’t forget that I, your most generous Lord Emperor, promoted you through the ranks and taught you how to be a successful and respected leader of our troops. And that I was the one who protected you and your mother after your father’s senseless death at the hands of that madman.” Marcus moved closer and lowered his face, practically brushing his lips across Gaius's mouth. His breath smelled of sour wine and garlic.  
  
“Don’t ever forget that it was me, your beloved sovereign, who taught you how to be a man, my sweet pet.”  
  
Nostrils flared, Gaius pursed his lips and looked to the floor. As much as he’d tried all these years, he could never forget the months following his father’s murder. He would always remember that terrifying trip to promised sanctuary in a distant province with little more than the clothes on his twelve-year-old back—and that fateful day when his mother gladly handed guardianship of him over to a complete fucking stranger, to a frightening giant of a monster with calloused, lecherous hands.   
  
Gaius raised his eyes and clenched his fists. “I will never forget, Dominus.”  
  
“Good. Those were important lessons, you know. I made you who you are."  Marcus kissed his forehead. "Come, I want to show you the latest designs for my new forum.” He pulled Gaius over to a large oak table with papyrus scrolls half-unrolled all over its smooth, golden brown surface. “Apollodorus has added some extraordinary details. The man’s a fucking genius!”  
  
“You heard that, Lord Fabius. You’ll testify as my witness the next time your brother questions my abilities.”  As Apollodorus swept into the room, his reddish-orange and blue robes swirled around his slight frame; the brightly colored fabrics contrasted handsomely against his dark olive skin and short, cropped beard. His fingertips were stained from draughtsman’s ink. With a joyful grin, he bowed. “Greetings, my Lord Emperor Trajan and my Lord Fabius.”   
  
“Apollodorus, what fortuitous timing.  Come and show Gaius here the changes you’ve made to the porticos.  Those statues of humiliated, captive Dacian beasts are bloody magnificent. And, by the gods, he’s created this triumphal column, Gaius—well, you just have to see the drawings. Apollodorus has outdone himself.  We knew he was a clever engineer, but who knew our Greek associate here was such an innovative designer?”  
  
Gaius pulled out of Marcus’s grasp, rushed over and hugged the architect in a tight, emotional embrace, and spoke softly into his ear. “Appy, my old friend. I’d heard that you were in Rome.”  Gaius's voice cracked and his arms refused to loosen their grip.  
  
“My dear Lord Fabius.”  Gaius was shaking. Apollodorus pulled him in even closer and whispered.  “Is everything all right, Gaius?”  
  
After one more affectionate squeeze, Gaius placed one hand on Apollodorus’s shoulder and stepped back. As he wiped at his glassy wet eyes, he flashed a forced smile. “Things are as they’ve always been. Shit, but it’s bloody good to see you. Publius said that you were staying here at the palace. For how long?”  
  
Two attendants bowed and entered the chamber, carrying armfuls of scrolls that threatened to spill out of their grasp and onto the floor.  Marcus grunted and waved them over to the desk.  
  
“I’m a guest here at your father’s pleasure. I’ll be in Rome until we all leave for the next war, I suppose.” Apollodorus grinned, and squeezed Gaius’s left forearm.  “I am surprised to see you here, though. I ran into Lord Petronius this morning and he told me that you’d left the capital for Campania.”  
  
“My trip south was interrupted.”  Gaius answered, his voice low and his jaw tight. “My dear father decided that my presence was required at the court.”   
  
Apollodorus cupped his friend's face in his hands and smiled. “Well, let me be selfish and say that I’m delighted that our Lord Emperor thwarted your plans. You’ll accompany Helen and I to dinner tonight. Our host says that it will be an intimate group, lots of laughs. I won’t take no for an answer, my Lord.”  
  
“Cocky as ever, I see. It would be my pleasure to flirt shamelessly with your enchanting wife, Appy.”  
  
“Ha, wonderful!  Should I invite Publius to join us as well?”  Apollodorus lifted an eyebrow and smirked.  
  
Gaius pulled his face out of Apollodorus’s hands and dropped his sarcastic smile for a hard, sober glare. “Do that and I'll never fucking dine with you again, engineer.”  
  
“Hey, you two love birds—get over here!" Marcus tapped an unrolled scroll with his pointer finger, a confused scowl twisting his face as he scratched his ear. "Explain these new changes, Apollodorus. I swear that just when I think I’ve finally grasped what you’re doing, you bloody alter the design again.”   
  
Apollodorus grabbed Gaius by the elbow and winked. "Come, let me show you the forum plans.  The damn thing is over the top and blatantly megalomaniacal, just the way you Romans like your memorials."  
  
  
  
  
 _** **A/N:**   The language of the ancient Dacians is lost. However, many linguists argue that some hundred or so Dacian words have survived in modern Romanian.  Therefore, ancient Dacian is translated in this story as Romanian. Apologies in advance to any Romanian readers. Google translate is a dangerous shiny thing. ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

**The Bay of Naples, AD 107**  
  


Allerix bent down and placed the dish on the floor. That had tasted better than anything he’d eaten in weeks—only a scattering of breadcrumbs and tiny slivers of cheese were left on the red ceramic platter. He'd almost licked it clean but had stopped himself. He smiled, his eyes glassy with tears, as he envisioned his beloved tutor, Istros, tugging his long grey beard while wagging a bony, crooked finger – “Stop that, Allerix! Princelings do not lick food scraps off plates like common mongrels.”   
  
Alle wiped his face with his forearm, and hoped that somewhere Gorgas was eating decent fare, assuming the idiot was still alive. He’d dreamt about the boy last night, recklessly racing ahead, with his bobbing tangle of rich brown hair and that wide, toothy smile, galloping right into the enemy’s hands. The soldiers grabbed the both of them, pulled them right off their fucking horses. If the brutes had known any mercy, they would have killed him and Gorgas right there in the grass after they...  
  
He swallowed a gulp of water and rolled his shoulders, trying to forget, trying focus on something less painful, like his brutally sore muscles. It was damn near impossible to massage his shoulders with his hands bound together, but he found a bit of temporary relief when he raised his arms and looped his shackled wrists behind his stiff neck.  For most of that endless, bouncy wagon ride along paved roads and dirt paths, he'd been flat on his back, wrists tied to the floor of the stuffy covered compartment. Twice a day, the man named Maximus had fed him; twice a day, he’d allowed Alle to relieve himself in a chamber pot. Alle counted five times that they stopped for the night; each time, two men had chatted outside the wagon’s back door about the weather, women and the public baths, whatever those were, in some place called Neapolis. They never mentioned that Roman bastard, the monster who had ordered the slaughter of his kinsmen, his friends—his brave, beautiful Brasus.  
  
Alle lifted the cup up to his lips again, and choked back a sob as he sipped another drink of cool water.  
  
There was no point in crying any more.  
  
They were all dead now—his cousins, his mates, Brasus...  
  
They’d left him behind to face the humiliation of defeat alone.   
  
When the wagon stopped late last night, the pungent sweet stench of horse manure hung heavy the air. Maximus carried him to a small room inside a building next to the stables. Carefully, he’d deposited Alle’s shackled, worn body on a cushioned bed, removed the blindfold and secured his ankles to one of the legs of the sturdy bronze frame.   
  
Daybreak had brought bright sunshine and the piercing cries of birds and that plateful of delicious food on the floor by the couch. The only window in the room faced a vast expanse of crystal clear water. Through the metal window grates, the blue-green shimmering surface crested here and there, dipped and finally crashed against a rocky cliff. He'd heard tales of the enemy’s great sea to the south, but Alle never expected this. Back home, lakes were small, dark and mysterious. And they didn’t fucking move. Lulled by the sounds of the battering surf, Alle finally closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh, salty air. It was so different here, wherever here was. So odd and yet so strangely enchanting.   
  
Peaceful.   
  
“Greetings.”   
  
A young man stood by the doorway, dressed in a thin, creamy-pale tunic cinched with a wide leather belt. The pretty lad was shorter than Alle by a hand and a looked to be couple of years younger—nineteen, maybe eighteen. He had a similar build, lithe but nicely muscled.  
  
“I’m Simon.” He said in a soft voice, as he took a couple of tentative steps forward.   
  
A thick quiff of honey-brown curls dangled just above Simon’s emerald green eyes. His face was sun-kissed, a faint sprinkle of freckles above his cheeks, with features that were strong and perfectly proportioned. He was far too damn beautiful for a boy.   
  
“I see you’ve finished all of your first meal. Plautus is a good cook, isn’t he? Bit of a stodgy old grouch, but he bakes the best bread that I’ve ever eaten. Not that I leave our villa much.”  
  
Alle relaxed and tilted his head, as he tried to appear bemused and ignorant. This fetching sprite carried no weapon and seemed harmless enough. He reminded Alle of Gorgas.   
  
Rolling his eyes, Simon pressed his palm to his forehead.  “Shit, I'm daft.  You can’t understand a fucking word that I’m saying, can you?  Well, that’s why I’m here.”  Simon walked over, plopped down on the bed and sat cross-legged next to Alle. The brunet leaned back against the wall, rested his hands on his knees and stared at Alle’s face.   
  
“You have amazing eyes, like an owl, with those big droopy eyelids and those long feathery lashes.” When Simon reached out to touch his face, Alle made a low noise in the back of his throat and pulled back.   
  
“Hush, I won’t hurt you. You are called Paulus.  _Pau-lus_ , understand? I am Simon. Max—you know Max, right? He was Dom’s favorite for a long, long time.  He’s been freed, and now I’m Dom’s favorite. Everything’s a bit upside down and confusing lately.”  Simon raked his fingers through his thick hair, and scratched his scalp. “  
  
“Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right. Well, Max—who, by the gods, has the biggest fucking prick you’ve ever seen—sent me here to teach you how to talk. Dom had me schooled properly when I was a boy, so I can read and write both languages, although my Greek is spotty. Sometimes I get to copy Dom’s correspondence and read stories to him.” Simon leaned forward, rested his chin in his palm. He blew a rogue curl out of his seductive eyes and pointed to Alle’s wrists.   
  
“Do those shackles hurt? Those are called  _sha-ckles_.”   Simon rubbed one of the embossed golden bracelets that adorned his own wrists and grimaced dramatically.  “Do they hurt? The  _sha-ckles_?”  
  
Alle looked down at the heavy leather cuffs that bound his hands together with a few inches of chain.  He lifted them from his lap and shook his head back and forth.  
  
“Good gods, you understood me, didn’t you?”  Simon clapped his hands softly and brought his fingers up, pressing the tips against his rosy lower lip. “That’s wonderful! I taught you some words, didn’t I? Max said that I’d make a fabulous teacher.”  
  
"Should we petition the town council to erect a statue of Pedagogue Simon, Tutor of Bearded Barbarians? Would you prefer it stood in the forum or the gymnasium, oh great learned twat?” Alle looked over at the doorway and his breath caught in his throat. Wearing a wicked grin on his handsome face, a man leaned against the jamb, his muscular arms crossed high and haughty. Crinkles framed the corners of his tapered, feline eyes that sparkled bright as blue stars against his bronzed skin.   
  
Simon jutted his chin out and pointed. “And this, Paulus, this shit head is Nicomedes. He’s a cunt.” Simon made a smooching noise and blew a kiss at the striking man. With a sultry, infectious laugh, Nicomedes cupped his balls through his dark green tunic with one hand and made a gesture with the other. Alle didn’t recognize the two-fingered motion but he guessed its obscene meaning.   
  
After he tossed his long, wavy blond hair back, Nic strode over to the window and sat down on the wide stone sill.  “Simon, are you sure that he’s to be a cock warmer? I mean, really—look at him. Our Dom couldn’t possibly want to fuck this hairy, illiterate cur.”  
  
Simon shrugged. “Max says he’s a Dacian.”  
  
“No shit! A Dacian?” Nic sprang up and squatted in front of Alle, peering at his face with skeptical, wary eyes. “I thought they killed all those crazy fuckers. So he doesn’t understand what we’re saying then?”  
  
“Max doesn’t think so.  That’s why he’s put me in charge of teaching Paulus some basic words.”  
  
Nicomedes cocked a brow and cautiously extended his left hand to touch Alle’s ebony beard. “Well, that should be simple enough. Once furry face here understands—let me count— _strip_ ,  _kneel_ ,  _cock_ ,  _suck_ ,  _down on all fours_ , and  _bend over_ , he should be all set, right?”  When Alle jerked out of reach, Nic lost his balance and toppled back on his sandal-clad heels. He cursed and winced, sucking air in between his clenched teeth.    
  
“Shit, Nic.  Are you all right?”   
  
“I’m fucking fine, twerp.  No! Get away. I don’t need your useless sympathy.”  
  
Simon rolled his eyes and huffed. “Whatever. Be a bastard, but I know that hurt. I was just trying to help. See, Paulus… he’s a cunt.” Simon leaned down, pursed his lips and cooed, “But we love him just the same. Don’t we, lamb? That what Dom calls Nic—his naughty lamb.”  
  
“You obnoxious, adorable little...” After he rolled back up onto his knees, Nic reached up and cupped Simon’s face, and kissed him passionately on the mouth. The younger slave smiled, parted his lips and returned the wet, frenzied caress. As their tongues darted and twirled in a sensual dance, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, Alle felt the blood rush to his groin. He rubbed his palms against the fabric covering his cock and lost himself in the delicious friction.   
  
Sneaking a peek out of the corner of his eye, Nic chuckled into Simon’s mouth. “Our Dacian here’s a watcher.”   
  
Alle froze. Within two breaths, his pale neck and creamy-white cheeks flushed to a splotchy pattern of rose and crimson. He yanked his bound hands off his engorged shaft and looked away.   
  
“S’all right, Paulus. You can watch us.” Simon whispered, giggling. He wiggled his right arm out of Nic’s lusty grasp and pushed Alle’s shackled hands back down to his crotch. “Go on, touch yourself. Dom fancies that. And he fucking loves when his boys blush all pink and warm.”  
  
“And, if you’re lucky, Dom will spank your arse cheeks red hot before he pounds you.” Nic snorted, tilted his head and traced a lazy line with the tip of his shiny, talented tongue from Simon’s shoulder up to his jaw, up over his cheeks and back down to the boy’s supple mouth. Alle couldn’t keep from staring. They were so beautiful, the way they kissed deep and heated without fear, without any hesitation or shame. They were spectacular, and fucking mesmerizing. Without thinking, Alle stroked his shaft again through his tunic.   
  
Simon closed his eyes and grinned, as Nicomedes spider-walked his fingers up the inside of his thigh. “Let me swallow you, Simon. Right here. Let’s give the lad a real show.”   
  
“Nic…”  
  
“Come the fuck on, twat. I haven’t gotten cock in years. Be a good sport.”   
  
Laughing and shaking his head, Simon shoved Nicomedes off him and pushed the blond down to the floor. “No fucking way, Nic. And don’t exaggerate. It’s only been a couple of months, not years. You, my naughty friend, are up to your balls in trouble as it is for breaking Dom’s rules. No blowjobs without permission, remember? Now, if you’re offering a hand job…”  
  
“Simon! What is going on here? I gave you clear and simple directions, pup.”  Max marched in and jerked Nic to his feet by the back of his collar. “And who, on earth, gave  _you_  approval to come in here?”  
  
“I just wanted to see Dom’s new whore, sir. No harm done.”  With an apologetic smirk, Nic ducked as he half-heartedly tried to pull away.   
  
“You’re a bloody distraction, slut.”  Max brushed his lips along the curve of Nic’s ear shell and murmured, “Get your gorgeous rump out to the exercise yard and do something useful.  I need this Dacian mongrel to understand the commander’s orders as soon as possible.”  
  
“When’s Dom coming home?”  Simon looked up, his green eyes wide and yearning, while Max smacked Nic’s bum and shoved him out of the room. Nicomedes stopped just outside the doorway, and dawdled within earshot.   
  
As he rubbed his knotted brow with his thumb and middle finger, Max sighed. “I don’t know, Simon.  We should get word from Rome in a few days.  Until then, quit larking about and teach this savage our language. After I tend to a few chores, I’ll be back to take him for wash.” Max looked at Alle with disgust.  “I expect you fucking stink by now, don’t you?”   
  
Simon crinkled up his nose and pinched his nostrils. “Yeah, he’s a bit, um, ripe.  Can I help?”  
  
“Focus, Simon. One task at a time, right?”  
  
Simon lowered his chin and mumbled. “Yes, Max sir.”  
  
When Max had left the room, Simon turned to Alle and rubbed his palms together. “So, Paulus. What should we try next? Some words for colors, perhaps?”

  
~~~~~

  
Max turned the key and pulled open the heavy pine doors of the tall cupboard that stood against the far wall of the commander’s office. He lifted the top off the supply box that he’d placed on a nearby table and removed the expensive objects from the cushioned layers of black fabric, one at a time. Three new purchases from Rome this trip: a bronze scabbard from Syria, a long heavy Germanic sword and a shorter Celtic dagger with a handle shaped like a sea monster’s head.   
  
After Max placed the rare scabbard on the top shelf of the storage chest, he looked up.  Affixed high on the back of the storage rack, the two-handed falx took pride of place in the commander’s collection. Five years earlier, only a few months before Nicomedes arrived in their lives, Gaius Fabius had been awarded the exotic curved sword by the emperor. It was a priceless trophy for the general's valor during the first war. At one point it had belonged, so the rumor went, to the supreme and now very dead Dacian king. Max studied the bizarre instrument and shrugged. As far as he could tell, the priceless falx resembled an ordinary farmer’s sickle.   
  
“When did you get back?”   
  
It was no surprise that Max hadn’t heard her enter Dom’s office.  She moved about the villa quietly, her footsteps softer than a cobra’s hiss just before the lethal strike. As always, she wore a gauzy silk dress that hugged the curves of her breasts and hips, before it flowed down in sheer waves of fabric to the floor. Dom’s old whore strolled about the villa with the haughty attitude of an untouchable Vestal.   
  
“Last night.  Late. Atticus reports that all has been blissfully dull down here.  Is that true, Callidora?”  
  
“There’s been no trouble that I’m aware of. Of course, the boys aren’t my responsibility, are they?” Callidora sashayed over to the cabinet and gingerly picked up the scabbard, turning it over to inspect the intricate inlay designs.  
  
Max took two steps toward her, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Simon’s your own damn son, or have you forgotten?”  
  
“Simon was my child, Maximus—was. Past tense. Just as you were once Dom’s favorite plaything before you grew too old and predictable. Our roles in this charade are in constant flux, my dear boy, apt to morph before we even realize what’s happening.  Tell me, did you enjoy your brief time in Rome?” Callidora lifted the Celtic weapon off the second shelf, and pointed the tip of the dagger blade directly at Max's throat.  “I see that Dom accumulated more precious war toys.”   
  
“Rome was sweltering.”  Max swallowed before he dropped his voice. “I saw Alex. You do remember him, right?  Simon’s father.”   
  
Slow and deliberate, Calli replaced the knife back on the cupboard shelf. She walked up to Max, stood up on her toes and peered into his dark eyes.   
  
“How is my sweet and meek breeder these days? I heard rumor that he took a young wife.”  
  
“Perhaps. He didn’t mention a wife. But he seemed to be faring well, as well as can be expected. Alex runs a shoe shop for Dom.  Profits are good. The commander was pleased.”  
  
“That’s lovely.  Our timid mouse deserves the pretense of happiness.”  She chuckled.  
  
Max’s hands tightened into fists. “What Alex deserved was to live his days out here at the villa. You had no right to have him sent away.”  
  
“I did no such thing! Dom asked for my opinion on the situation and I was honest. Alexander was getting too attached to the boy. He had to go. It was best for Simon, and for Dom.”   
  
“You are so full of shit.  You wanted him out of the way, out of your sight. So you fucking manipulated and harangued Dom about it until he was gone.”  
  
Calli waved her hand and yawned. “That’s all in past, Maximus. No one is irreplaceable, no one is safe from the whims of the Fates.”  
  
“Unlike you, however, Alex and I are now safe from the auction block.”  
  
Callidora’s red-stained lips twisted with twitches of bitterness. She flicked one side of her long brown hair over her shoulder, pushed a few stray strands behind her ear, and cleared her throat. “There’s word that there’s a new pet at the stable house. A barbarian.”  
  
“Dom bought a new slave. A Dacian.”  
  
“Well, well… it seems our Nic’s days are numbered. Dom will never free him, not after that idiotic stunt he pulled. He’ll sell Nicomedes to a brothel in Neapolis, I expect.  The slut’s tattered hole might fetch fifty pieces of silver, tops. Atticus can buy a fattened hog for the coming harvest festivities with the coin. Seems a fair trade, don’t you think? Nic's used arse for a juicy swine?”  
  
Every fiber in Max’s body twitched in fury. “Watch it, Callidora. Nicomedes has endured enough suffering already.”  
  
She gulped and shook her trembling pointer finger. “Don’t you dare threaten me, savage.”  
  
He slapped her face hard, as he shouted. “I am a freed man now, slave!” She fell backwards, tripping on the folds of her long dress, a thin trail of blood trickling down the side of her mouth.  
  
Max folded his brawny arms and grinned, looking down his nose into her defiant, narrowed eyes. “Your charms have withered, woman. Dom will sell you soon, and while Alex enjoys his new status and perhaps even a loving wife, you will die a slave. That's  _your_  fate.”   
  
After she wiped her split lip with the back of her hand and spat on the floor by his feet, Max grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up. “Be disrespectful to me again and this free savage will whip your slave hide raw, with Dom’s blessing no less. I’ll do it out in the courtyard, so the stable hands and field laborers can enjoy the show. Where Nicomedes can watch. And Simon. Now, get out of my sight, you fucking callous hag.”  
  
Callidora snarled through her teeth. “Yes, sir.”    
  
She bowed curtly, before lifting the hem of her long dress. As she shuffled backwards out of the office, she chanted silent curses under her breath.  _"_ _May the gods grant me the means and opportunity—may the great goddess destroy you, Maximus."_

  
~~~~~

  
Just when it seemed the Dacian might actually drown, Max yanked his head up out of the bath. Struggling against the bindings that tied his wrists and ankles, Alle opened his eyes wide, coughed and sputtered, and gasped for air. Waves of hot water splashed over the sides of the deep pool. Max tightened his grip around a large clump of sopping black hair and pushed Alle under the surface again, before pulling him up one last time.   
  
“There, that should kill most of the lice. I’d fucking cut it all off if I had a choice, but the commander prefers long hair on his pets.”   
  
Max wasn’t enjoying this one bit. In all his years, he’d never had to bathe a foul-smelling, wooly barbarian. Sure, he’d bathed and fucked Nicomedes, and Simon, in the more opulent private baths of the main villa house for Dom's viewing pleasure, but that was entertaining for everyone involved. Never before had he been forced to wash a full-grown, shackled heathen. It was sloppy and time-consuming. Here in the modest, sparsely decorated bathing room of the stable house, he was a soaked wet nurse. At least he didn’t have to flush the Dacian's bum plumbing. Not yet.  
  
“Simon, hand me that reed scrubber. No, not the oil scraper, boy—the one next to it on the ring.”  
  
As Simon placed the bristled tool in Max’s huge, outstretched palm, he asked, “Are you going to shave Paulus’s face, sir?”  
  
“Not without orders, Simon. Greek fashions are becoming more popular with Romans lately.  There’s a chance—a slim one, mind you—that the commander fancies his whiskers.” Max pinched a clump of Alle’s beard and rubbed it between his fingers. “His beard is so much softer than I’d imagined.”  
  
“Can I touch? Oh, that is soft, like fine sheep's wool. Max, if Dom likes whiskers, why has he never allowed me or Nic grow a beard? And you’ve never had…”  
  
“Simon.” Max smirked as he rolled his eyes. “Get in the water and help me reposition him.  Between the bath oils and his furry limbs, this mongrel’s as slippery as a squid.”   
  
Simon stripped off his tunic and gracefully stepped into the water to straighten out Alle's folded legs. Once they were rearranged, Max wrapped his arms tightly around his narrow waist, lifted Allerix up and dropped his round bum down onto his lap.   
  
 _“Zeii mei!”_  
  
Max mumbled into Alle’s right ear. “I have no fucking clue what you just said, Dacian, but… yes, that’s my very large and now very hard cock jammed between your plump cheeks.”   
  
As he knelt down to wash Alle's slender calves, Simon threw back his head of curls and laughed. “Hard to miss that colossus, Max. Uh—I mean, sir.”  
  
Max winked. “Settle down, pup.”  
  
Alle’s entire body tensed up as tight as a coiled snake when Max gently swirled the scrubber over his chest and down his abdomen to his lean thighs. Max paused, and placed the instrument on the tiled ledge. “Listen, I’m not allowed to stick my huge cock up your little virgin arse. You are Commander Fabius’s property. None of us, including me, can fuck you without his permission, so bloody relax. I’m going to clean your wee barbarian balls now. Simon, pass me that rag.”  
  
“He’s a virgin?” Simon's jaw dropped, the corners of his lips upturned in delight.   
  
As he ran the washing cloth over Alle’s squishy sac, Max lifted an eyebrow and lowered his chin. “Well, that was the slave dealer’s claim, pup. Not that I’m convinced of it.” Max’s experienced hand stroked Alle’s prick under the water until it twitched and stiffened. “And truth be told, Dacian, I’m not all that convinced that you don’t understand more of what we’re saying than you’re letting on.”  
  
“You think he understands us?  Well, I mean I have taught him about thirty words today, sir.  Perhaps he’s just bright, a quick learner and all.”  
  
“Let’s hope so. Dom paid a fucking fortune for this alleged virgin, thanks to Lord Petronius. And, as we know, the commander has no patience for stupidity.”  
  
“Or disobedience.”  Simon added in his softest voice, before asking, “But I’m confused, sir. What does Lord Petronius have to do with his price?”  
  
“The auction was… um, a bit odd. It’s a long story, Simon.”  Max turned and studied Alle’s profile. He ran his moist fingertip down the gentle slope of Alle’s small, perky nose. “Shit, now that I’ve a closer look at him, he is a pretty thing, isn’t he? Underneath all that hair, I mean.”  
  
“He’s, well—different, you know. Sort of exotic. Not at all Greek like me or Nic. He’s more like you, Max. He’s unusual. Special.”    
  
His face blank, Max stared at Simon for a few moments in silence.  He slowly closed his eyes and swallowed as he nodded.  Shit, Callidora was wrong—this cub wasn’t purchased to replace Nicomedes. How the fuck had he not realized it earlier?   
  
Max snapped his eyes open, cleared his throat and barked in a brusque tone. “All right, we’re done here. Can’t sit in the fucking bath all day. Let’s get this one back to his room and finish up our chores before supper.”  
  
“Did I say something wrong, sir?”  
  
“You’re honest, Simon. Brutally honest sometimes, but that’s an honorable trait, lad.”  
  
Simon grinned and ducked his head.  “No one’s ever called me honorable before. Thank you, sir.”    
  
Max reached over and ruffled Simon’s damp curls. He would never tell Simon how much and how often he reminded him of Alexander.  There was no point, and it hurt enough just thinking those thoughts, let alone saying the words out loud. Alex was gone. He pulled Simon forward by his hair and kissed him on the forehead. “We all love you, sweetheart.”  
  
“Plautus doesn’t.  He fucking hates me, Max.”  
  
Max laughed, as he wiped his eyes. “That old curmudgeon of a cook hates everyone, pup. Always has.”  
  
When he glanced over at Alle, Max swore that he saw the Dacian flash a slight smirk. 

  



	8. Chapter 8

 

 **AD 107**  
  
 **Rome, The Circus Maximus**  
  
  
"Can’t you see it's a trap?"   
  
A strong gust blew from the south and whipped the crimson canopy that shaded the imperial box. The heavy fabric flapped violently like a ship’s sail in a storm. Gaius leaned forward, and wrapped his fingers around the bronze railing. With a groan, he dragged his other hand through his spiraling amber curls.   
  
"Don't let those bastards crowd you, you idiot!" He threw his hands up and slammed against the back of his seat in frustration. “It’s a fucking ambush.”  
  
For most of the seven laps, four chariots had been out front, jostling for the lead. They flew by, charging down the circus track at full gallop, kicking up the fine sand. The three chariots of the Blue faction had maneuvered into position. They tightened ranks and pushed their outnumbered rival close to the high wall that split the wide elliptical course into two broad lanes.   
  
“Gaius, what on earth are they doing to that charioteer?” She asked calmly, though he detected a hint of panic in her voice.  
  
“Ganging up on the poor bastard—it’s a dirty tactic but effective.” He answered out of the corner of his mouth while he kept his eyes fixed on the race. As the Blue chariots closed in for the kill, Gaius shook his head. He’d always had a weak spot for underdogs.  
  
The three Blues slammed their opponent's two-wheeled vehicle into the stone partition, and then rammed it again, as they struck the Green driver with their long whips.   
  
His wife gasped in horror and clutched his hand. During their seven years of marriage, Marcia had attended the races only once. She hated all the dust flying about, not to mention the inevitable carnage. Today, however, Marcia had no choice but to be by his side. For the opening events of the emperor’s triumphal celebrations, the presence of the entire imperial family was mandatory. He'd reminded her of that unfortunate fact just this morning over breakfast when she started bitching about the heat.   
  
The chariots reached the conical posts for the last hairpin turn into the final stretch. The Green driver had managed to put some space between himself and his harassers when the Blue at the front of the battling pack steered too tight and lost control, flipping his vehicle on its side. The other three carts smashed into it; a thunderous cloud of shattered wood and mangled metal exploded into the heavy summer air.   
  
Before the debris settled, the awe-struck mob jumped to their feet and roared in deafening unison. Another charioteer from the Greens raced around the wreckage, and the mutilated remains of horses and drivers. Furiously slicing their flanks with his lash, he drove his chariot team across the finish line. From the spectators’ stands came a second, less raucous cheer of approval.   
  
Gaius gently squeezed Marcia’s white-knuckled hand and mumbled. "They died instantly."   
  
Publius, on the other side, was clapping and hooting like a mad man. After he sat back down, he elbowed Gaius in the ribs and pointed. “That—now  _that_  was bloody fucking spectacular!”  
  
“You always have enjoyed a fatal crash more than anyone I know, little brother.”  
  
Marcia sighed in exasperation before she leaned over Gaius's lap, one palm pressed against his thick thigh. Even through the stench of well over a hundred thousand sweaty bodies, he caught a whiff of her light perfume. A dangling gold earring swung back and forth like a pendulum, brushing against the soft skin of her sinuous neck. Gaius fancied this new hairstyle that she'd adopted during his absence--her dark brown wavy hair parted in the middle and loosely tied back in a braided bun. Thanks to the gods that she'd finally gotten rid of that stiff, absurd fan-shaped fashion favored by her older, more conservative friends.  
  
“Publius, I can't for the life of me understand why you are so happy with the results of that race. Are you no longer a devoted fan of the Blue faction? Have you switched sides on us, again?” Marcia asked, her sarcastic tone in no way hiding her disgust with her brother-in-law and the entire lurid scene.  
  
From his seat two rows behind her, Lucius snorted out loud. Luc always did get a good chuckle out of Marcia's fierce dislike of Publius.  
  
“Of course, Marcia. I've adored my Blues since I was a small boy.  Gaius, tell your skeptical wife how much I love my team." Publius fidgeted with his toga and lowered his voice. "But I had a consultation with my astrologer yesterday and he convinced me to wager on the Greens for this contest. Damn good thing too. That was the most spectacular smash up that I’ve seen in ages.”   
  
“And where is your lovely wife, Publius?”  Marcia lifted her chin and nodded towards the empty seat beside him.   
  
“Sabina’s not feeling well, I’m afraid. The hot weather and all.”  
  
Gaius leaned far back to allow his wife a clear line of attack.  The last fucking thing he needed was to get caught in their bitchy crossfire. Marcia could be a vicious viper. To say she didn’t care for beautiful Sabina was putting it mildly.   
  
Marcia cocked her head and smirked. “She is such a delicate, young flower. So very, very fragile. Do send our wishes for a speedy recovery, won’t you?”   
  
Apparently the Greekling wasn’t in the mood for a spat with her today. Publius simply nodded as he wiped the sweat from his brow, and stretched forward to shout down the row of seats.   
  
“Fabulous race! Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Emperor?”  
  
“Marvelously entertaining, my son!” Marcus bellowed back and slapped his legs just above his bony knees. “Ah, there’s nothing as satisfying as a good afternoon at the races before a feast." He softened his tone. "Are you enjoying yourself, beloved?”  
  
Plotina dabbed the pool of perspiration under her lower lip with her yellow silk cloth, and covered Marcia’s hand with her weathered talon.   
  
“You do need to control your jealousies, my dear. Envy is not becoming. And as for that race—well, my clever Publius doesn’t allow his loyalties to slave charioteers to interfere with a sure victory.”    
  
After she finished chiding Marcia, Plotina answered the emperor with no particular rush. “The spectacles are wonderful, Marcus.  But you deserve even grander celebrations for your brilliant triumphs, my esteemed Lord."  Donning a lazy smile, she patted her husband’s forearm. "For the next festival, I shall organize more lavish events, personally. They could use a woman's touch.”  
  
Marcia turned to the side and rolled her large hazel eyes at Gaius as she murmured. “Oh, for the love of Minerva.”  
  
He whispered into her ear. “Save it, sweetheart. In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve an entire fucking night of this horseshit ahead of us.”  Gaius shot her a pained grin and looked back down at the gory aftermath of the collision that stained the arena of Rome's enormous track.   
  
How was his new Dacian pet faring down at the villa? Had Max started training his luscious mouth yet?  
  
Shit, he was fucking horny. Ever since he’d been forced to return to the capital, Lucius had been unavailable, even for a quick tryst.   
  
Fuck Luc, and his time-consuming duties at the law courts and his shrew of a wife!   
  
Of course, Marcia’s slave girls were readily available, but bedding her compliant dolls was bloody boring. He’d give anything right now to be down by the seaside, playing sweet and rough with his gorgeous naughty boys, instead of trapped at the palace for another two weeks of victory celebrations and tedious dinner parties.   
  
From beneath a large archway, a gaggle of race attendants wheeled a salvage wagon out onto the track. When they reached the baking wreck, one tossed a severed leg into the back of the cart while two others grappled with the carcass of the Green faction's champion black stallion. In a few moments, all traces of the broken chariots and the dead beasts, horses and slave charioteers alike, would be permanently erased and duly forgotten. Another race was to start soon, the next group of contestants already taking their spots in the starting gates down below.   
  
And so it would go on, lap after treacherous lap, for the remainder of the scorching afternoon until the final race of the day was decided and the last victor crowned.   
  
It was the cyclical nature of the contests—the rhythm of life in Rome.  
  
Gaius lifted his cup above his shoulder and barked in resignation. "Wine!"  
  
~~~~~~  
  
 **The Bay of Naples, Gaius Fabius's Villa**  
  
  
"What did Dom's letter say again, Max?" Simon's busy mouth was stuffed with half-chewed bread. Crumbs fell from his rosy lips and landed on the floor beneath the dining table in the stable house common room. When he brushed his cream-colored tunic, another scattering of crust bits flew down to the herringbone brick tiles.  
  
"It said to tell sloppy Simon to stop eating like a fucking pig." Nic chimed in. "Learn some bloody manners, twat, or you’ll never go with Dom to one of those dinner parties in Neapolis."  
  
"Sod off." Simon grumbled, more crumbs spilling out.  
  
"Nic's right. We'll resume with your etiquette lessons tomorrow, Simon. Your kneeling needs work as well. And as for Dom's letter, it's safely stored away at the main house, scamp. But the short of it is that Commander Fabius will be home by the close of the month. No doubt he'll send word ahead before he departs from Rome."  
  
Max sopped up the last puddle of tangy fish sauce from his saucer with a piece of bread and popped the bite into his mouth. "And no, for the twentieth fucking time—Dom didn't say anything about ending Nic's punishment."  
  
With a frustrated grunt, Nic crossed his arms on the tabletop and cradled his forehead in the crook of his right elbow.   
  
Seated across from Max, Allerix drained the last drops of water from his cup. The food here was flavorful but too damn salty. Ever since he'd arrived at the villa, he'd been constantly thirsty. That fucking briny fish sauce these people slopped over damn near everything was disgusting.   
  
Alle held out his ceramic vessel between his bound hands and tilted his head. Be demure and adorable. Appear harmless.   
  
The key to any chance of escape was clear. He had to win Maximus’s trust.   
  
Fast.  
  
The Roman monster would be here soon.  
  
"Water please, sir."   
  
Grinning with pride, Simon bumped him with his shoulder.   
  
"That was much better, Paulus. Next time say, 'May I have more water please, sir,' all right? And remember that you have to ask permission to ask a question before you ask the question. Dom's pretty strict about that."  
  
"Except in bed." Nic flicked his long blond braid over his shoulder and smirked, before sitting up to hold out his cup as well. He puckered his lips and complained. “Max, I think Plautus's latest batch of fish sauce sat in the sun for too long. It tastes sort of rancid, don’t you think?”  
  
"May I ask question, sir?"   
  
“Almost perfect!” Simon yelped. “But it’s, ‘May I ask  _a_  question, sir.”  
  
Max rolled his eyes but stayed calm. "You’re taking this tutoring assignment a bit too seriously, Simon. Yes, Paulus—what is it?"  
  
Alle chewed on his lip before stuttering, "What is Nic's pun-ish-ment?"  
  
While he filled Alle's cup and then Nic's to the brim with fresh water, Max mulled over his response before speaking.   
  
“Show him, Nicomedes.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Show Paulus how Dom punished you for breaking the rules. Now!”  
  
Nic put his cup down, stood up and lifted his green tunic, exposing his crotch. Alle gulped, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He’d never seen anything like whatever the fuck that was before. It was some sort of metal torture contraption strapped to Nic’s groin.   
  
“Explain what you’re wearing and why you were disciplined, Nicomedes.” Max was dead serious.  
  
Nic looked down at the agonizing lattice of interlocking bronze loops that cut into and strangled his limp prick. “This is a cock cage. I can’t… I can’t get off, not even with my own hand. Understand? I’m being punished for fucking Zoe without Dom’s permission.”  Nic turned to Max.  “I promise it will  _never_ happen again, sir.”  
  
Max cleared his throat. “Nic has been caged for just over two months now. And I, lucky bastard that I am, get to stick my finger up his arse and milk him every seven days. Not all that pleasant a task for either of us. But that chastity cage is a mild penalty, given the options.  Nic’s lucky he still has his balls. Shit, he’s lucky that he’s still fucking alive.”   
  
Max waved his hand impatiently. “All right, you can cover that up now, lamb.”  
  
Alle swallowed and scrunched his brows.  “Zoe?”  
  
“She’s another whore slave." Simon added in a whisper. "Dom fancies girls sometimes. Zoe lives with my mother at the main house. Quiet, pretty blonde bird—same age as me—but don’t fucking touch her. Ever.”  
  
“I understand.  No Zoe.” Alle nodded enthusiastically. He had no interest in girls.  Never had any interest in them, much to his father’s displeasure.   
  
“No fucking  _anybody_  without Dom’s permission.”  Max corrected, as Nic sat back down.   
  
After a few moments of heavy silence, Simon changed the subject. He rocked back and forth on his hands that were shoved under his bum cheeks and asked, "How long does Paulus have to be in shackles, Max?"  
  
"The commander left that decision to my judgment. I have to admit that our furry barbarian here is doing much better than I’d anticipated. I’ll decide about the restraints after I see how well our Dacian handles his cock sucking lessons." Max reached across the table, lifted Alle’s bearded chin with a finger and looked him straight in the eyes. "Your training starts tonight, pretty cub. Do you understand me?"  
  
Alle stared back and batted his long feathery lashes, before dropping his gaze with a quick nod.   
  
He’d be one step closer after tonight.  One step closer to freedom.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
 **Rome, The Palatine Hill**  
  
  
Ten large windows, five on each side, pierced the long walls of the grand formal dining hall of the imperial palace. Outside, two identical courtyards each held a massive fountain that resembled a boat at sea. The gilded ceiling of the two-storied space soared high above the opulent room, its polished tiles reflecting the colorful marble slabs on the floor.    
  
As he looked down at his red patrician shoes, Gaius recognized the golden stone with veins of blood crimson covering the floor beneath his feet. The precious marble was native to Numidia, exported from the quarries where Maximus had once labored. Where Max had nearly died, alongside the dozens of slaves that perished in the pits nearly every day.  
  
Over in the corner of the room, loitering by an archaic sculpture of Dionysus, Lucius Petronius and Apollodorus were sharing the latest scuttlebutt, while Aurelia was doing her best to ignore Appy’s sweet but lower ranking wife.   
  
Pompous bitch.   
  
Helen had more class in her little finger than that weasel-faced woman and her entire clan of gold-digging kin.  Her fortuitous marriage to Lucius certainly hadn’t included a personality upgrade. Aurelia was still a greedy, uptight wretch.  
  
A striking young boy approached him, bowed and silently filled his half-empty wine cup. Gaius didn’t recognize the nearly naked slave—probably one of Marcus’s latest sex toy acquisitions. He couldn’t be much older than ten years.  
  
When Plotina hissed in his ear from behind, Gaius flinched.  “He’s lovely, isn’t he?  I can have Marcus send the boy home with you for a second dessert, if you like. I’m sure Marcia wouldn’t mind.”  
  
Gaius hunched his shoulders and cringed.  “I don’t fuck children, Domina. That proclivity belongs to your esteemed husband.”  
  
He turned around and glared at her stern face, spackled with a heavy layer of garishly bright cosmetics. “But, then again, you know all about Marcus’s preferences for little boys, don’t you, mother? You always have.”  
  
Plotina’s laughter shook the rigid stack of hair that was artfully pinned high on her head. She patted his shoulder and pursed her lips in displeasure.   
  
“Such crude language, Gaius. I’ve always said that you think too highly of yourself, dearest. Constantly judging others and oh so quick to point out the most trivial of faults. I wonder— is hubris a common defect of the Fabii? By the gods we all know that your unfortunate sire suffered from his share of unwarranted pride. I pray to the gods every morning that you, my son, don’t suffer a similar fate.”   
  
As Plotina swaggered off to find her next hapless victim, waves of golden silk fabric flowing in her wake, Marcia moved over to Gaius’s side and squeezed his forearm. “Is everything all right?”  
  
“No.”  
  
She sighed. “You just need a distraction. You always turn into a grumpy bear when you’re away from your boys for too long. Let’s go greet the consul, Senecio. I’ve never actually met our magistrate.  Introduce me, will you?”  Marcia tugged on his elbow.  
  
“He’s a dullard, dear. An incompetent boob. Quintus Sosius Senecio should never have been awarded that command in Moesia during the war.  And now the Senate’s honored the fool with a portrait statue in the forecourt of Jupiter’s sanctuary. A fucking statue for that buffoon? On the bloody Capitoline Hill?”  
  
“Hush now, Gaius. He’ll hear you. Come—boob or not, I need to meet the man. He has influence with certain powerful elders in the Senate. A friendly connection with Senecio would help us both. Indulge me.”   
  
He placed his larger hand over hers and grinned. “I’ve long admired your balls, woman.”  
  
She pulled him towards a small group chatting by one of the windows. Introductions were made, and Senecio—like most men—was quickly charmed by Marcia’s noble carriage and subtle flattery. Unfortunately, the dolt had the worst ear-rattling cackle of a laugh. Gaius felt bile burning in the back of his throat, when a bell rang out, echoing through the hall.   
  
“Greetings, everyone!”    
  
Marcus was in rare form, already swaying a bit from one too many cups.    
  
“Tonight’s sumptuous feast is ready to be served. The guest of honor for this evening who will receive the place of distinction on the couch beside me for the meal is our most noble…”  
  
Not bloody Publius again.  And where the fuck was princess Publius? Arriving late to bask in his dramatic solo entrance, no doubt.   
  
“Gaius Fabius Rufus!”  The emperor shouted. “Our most esteemed master of the Lucky Fourth Lions, and my talented second in command for our victories over the Dacian scourge. And, of course, my devoted son.”  The emperor offered out his elbow. “Come, Lord Fabius—accompany your emperor to the couches.”  
  
Shit.   
  
Gaius froze and blinked twice.   
  
He hadn’t been honored with the prized seat at a formal palace dinner in years. Cheering with abandon, Apollodorus lead the round of applause, while Lucius shot him a gesture of congratulations. Perhaps, despite all the gossip, he still had a chance at winning the imperial throne after all.   
  
Gaius grabbed his father’s arm and together they strolled over to the prime seats on the dining couches.   
  
“So, Gaius.  I’ve heard rumor that our chief counselor recently purchased a pretty Dacian boy at an auction on Gnaeus Decius’s estate.  Quite a bidding war, according to the reports.”  
  
Gaius stiffened and lowered his chin. Of course the emperor would have found out about the auction.  His spies were everywhere. And Publius had a big fucking mouth.  
  
“I was in attendance, my Lord.”  
  
Marcus’s jovial tone became low and lethal. “And you examined the beast for royal markings, yes? There's no chance that he's a Dacian princeling?”   
  
“There were no tattoos. The mongrel was a common peasant, nothing more. Completely untrained. Lucius has already sold it and lost substantial coin on the transaction.”  Gaius swallowed hard. “My most esteemed Lord Emperor.”  
  
Marcus sighed and pulled Gaius closer. “You should have warned your friend not to make such a foolish purchase in the first place. You, better than most, understand that Dacians are ruthless and conniving savages, not concubines to be pampered and coddled.”  
  
“Yes, father.”   
  
As the diners reclined on the ornate plush couches arranged around two circular silver tables, a group of lyre and flute players struck up a soothing dulcet tune. When everyone was comfortably settled, the palace steward snapped his fingers, and a flurry of attractive slaves in skimpy outfits brought out trays of appetizers and honeyed wine.   
  
Gaius glanced at the platter placed by his spot. It was loaded with stuffed dormice and an assortment of black olives, ripe wild plums and boiled quail eggs with pine nut sauce—all of his favorite delicacies. As the guest of honor, he was offered first taste. He picked up a cooked dormouse and bit into the spicy rodent treat.   
  
Perfectly roasted, succulent and crunchy.   
  
Next to his couch, the steward stood at attention, waiting for the signal. Gaius lifted a brow and nodded his satisfaction. As everyone dove into the appetizers, he licked his fingers and forced himself to relax.   
  
Hundreds of miles away, his Dacian cub was safe.   
  
~~~~~~  
  
 **The Bay of Naples, Gaius Fabius's Villa**  
  
“Come on, then!”  
  
Clearly impatient with the slow totter of Alle’s bound ankles, Max practically carried him down the footpath that connected the stables to the main building. “This is how we access the villa house. Do not use the large doors on the east—not that you’ll be allowed to venture anywhere unaccompanied for quite a while, Paulus. Understand?”   
  
Allerix nodded.   
  
The night sky glowed in the waning light of dusk. Alle tried to get his bearings, but high boxwood shrubs on either side of the path blocked his view of the surrounding landscape. He could hear the crashing waves of the sea to his left.  Or was the water on his right? Which direction was east?   
  
Once inside the house, they moved down a long hallway, turned a corner, and kept shuffling along until they reached a door at the far end of the wide corridor. A large man approached them from a side passageway.  
  
Max nodded to the burly brute, close to the size of an ox.  The armed guard carried a short sword, not that he needed it.  His gigantic paws could easily strangle even Max. The bald-headed man’s flat face was grossly disfigured. A deep jagged scar zigzagged from his forehead, over the bridge of his nose, and down to his jawline. His wide nostrils flared as he narrowed his eyes at Allerix.  
  
“Greetings, Maximus.”  
  
“Greeting, Varius.”  
  
“This is the commander’s new pet, I take it?”  
  
“Yes, sir. The slave’s name is Paulus.”    
  
Max shoved Alle a step forward, and continued.   
  
“Varius is an esteemed veteran and a client of Commander Fabius. He’s in charge of security here. If you fuck up, Paulus, Varius will most likely be the one who ties you to the post out in the yard and whips you bloody until you black out.”   
  
Varius’s broad smile revealed that he’d lost a few of his teeth.  Arms crossed, he leaned down uncomfortably close to Alle’s face. Alle tried to stay calm, but his mouth started to quiver.   
  
“Our friend Maximus here exaggerates.”   
  
Varius moved another couple of inches closer. Alle bit down on his trembling lower lip.   
  
“You’re not frightened of me, are you? I’m just a big old pussycat. Though, let me be very clear. I will snap your little neck like a dried twig if Commander Fabius gives me the orders.”   
  
He pinched Alle’s plump cheek. “So, be a good boy, right? Good boys don’t get flogged. Good whores don’t get their necks broken.”   
  
Varius chuckled and stepped back. While he readjusted the wide leather belt cinched below the paunch of his protruding stomach, he looked Alle over from head to toe.   
  
“He is a pretty thing, isn’t he? All right, then—I’m off to make my rounds and check the perimeter, Maximus. Are Simon and Nicomedes tucked safely in their beds?”   
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Very well. Goodnight.”  
  
Max waited for Varius to leave before he pulled a key out from his pouch and unlocked the heavy wooden door.  
  
“And this, Paulus—this is Dom’s playroom. You’ll be spending quite a bit of time in here.”    
  
Against the back wall, between two flickering oil lamps, an enormous bed dominated the center of the space. On Alle’s left, a wide balcony opened out over the sea, with sheer red curtains draped between slender white marble columns. To the right of the bed, a shallow alcove contained a large bronze chest. Alle stared at the metal cupboard long enough for Max to comment, “That’s where Dom stores his toys. You’ll find out all about those soon enough.”   
  
Max walked over to a bench near the balcony, sat down and waved his hand.  “Come here, cub. It’s getting late. Let start this.”  
  
After Alle hobbled over, Max asked, “Can you strip without assistance?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”    
  
Alle reached behind his neck, grabbed the back of his tunic with both hands and pulled the tan cloth up over his head, letting it puddle to the floor by his feet. The cool ocean breezes that blew in through the curtains tickled his creamy skin with goose bumps. His fleshy, brown nipples tightened into hard nubs. Alle looked into Max’s eyes as he sank to his knees.   
  
“Your form is quite graceful.  You won’t need much more training as far as kneeling goes, will you?”  
  
Alle smiled wide. His round cheeks swelled above the bristles of his short beard. Max hoisted his ivory tunic up around his waist. His long, thick cock bobbed and bumped against his firm stomach in anticipation.   
  
Max reached out and cupped Alle’s furry chin. “Shall we see what you already know?”  
  
Alle nodded with a slow blink and leaned forward.   
  
Win his trust. Get the shackles off.  
  
He wrapped the fingers of his bound hands tight around Max’s hard shaft. Before he could lower his head, Max grabbed a fistful of Alle’s ebony hair and yanked his face up. “You bite me, Dacian, and I’ll send for Varius. And, trust me, he’s no bloody pussycat.”    
  
“No biting, sir. I understand.”  Alle purred, and Max released his grip.   
  
Alle began tracing lazy lines with his wet tongue and soft beard over the vein that ran up the underside of Max’s cock. He pulled back, took a deep breath, and swallowed as much of Max’s length as he could manage until he gagged softly.  
  
“Whoa—easy there, cub.”  Max chuckled, gently brushing his fingers along the nape of Alle’s smooth neck. Alle’s chin was already damp from saliva. He relaxed his mouth, and Max’s dark brown cock slid out slowly from between his full, pink lips. With a flick of his tongue, Alle licked off a pearl of precum from the sensitive slit. After he languidly swept his moist lips and soft beard over the curves of the engorged head, Alle inhaled sharply through his nose, and swallowed Max’s thick shaft back down his throat, more slowly this time.   
  
Max growled. “That's very good. Dom will be fucking pleased with you, cub. He prefers slow, noisy sucking. Shit, I hope he keeps your delightful beard.”   
  
Firmly holding the stout base of Max’s cock between both of his hands, Alle moaned around the throbbing hot girth. His tongue and cheeks vibrated and then sucked with each sloppy stroke. Up, and then back down. Hum and squeeze. He increased the tempo and relaxed his jaw to take Max as deep as he could without coughing.  
  
Max let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes, lost in the exquisite pleasure.  
  
“Fuck, yes—you are a sweet, sweet boy. Dom loves when his whores moan around his cock low and deep like that. We’ll get those shackles off you before our next lesson. See what spectacular things you can do with your hands free, hmm?” Max groaned and laughed at the same time, his long fingers tangled in Alle’s messed hair.  
  
Alle glanced up from beneath his thick lashes and grinned, just moments before Max cried out and shot waves of warm semen down his throat. Max rode out the intense orgasm, digging his fingers into Alle's pale shoulders. When the last of the aftershocks finally subsided, he carefully pulled his softening cock out, and gently pushed Alle down on the floor until he lay flat on his back.  
  
Alle looked up with heavy, dazed eyes and licked his swollen lips in slow, intoxicating circles.  
  
Be submissive.  Appear pretty and harmless.  
  
The slave handler dropped down to his knees beside him and whispered. “Now that performance, sweet cub, earned you special treat. Let me show you  _exactly_  what Dom likes, yes? Hush, though—don’t tell the other lads. It'll be our little secret.”  Max winked. He lowered his face, and smiled one more time before he engulfed Alle’s aching prick all the way down to his Dacian balls in one smooth swallow.  
  
After a loud gasp, Allerix squeezed his eyes shut and softly mewled and squirmed.  
  
He’d be back home in the mountains of Dacia before the first snowfall of winter. He could practically taste roasted fresh venison. 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**AD 107**  
 **Rome, Gaius Fabius’ mansion on the Caelian Hill**  
  
  
With a content groan, he rose from beneath the surface of the dark, hot water and smoothed back his drenched chestnut-red curls with both hands. Droplets fell from the tips of his spiral locks and rolled down the muscles of his broad back. His wet hair hung down well past his shoulders. It was getting too long.  
  
One of Marcia’s nymphs would give him a proper trim before he left for the Senate deliberations in the morning. The session was scheduled to start early, but there should be plenty of time for breakfast and a haircut. The girls had already laundered his formal toga, and left it neatly folded over a chair in his bedchamber.  
  
Through the haze of steam that clouded the vaulted bathing suite, Pyramus crept out from some dark hiding place. The large spotted cat padded cautiously around the small puddles scattered across the mosaic floor, and sat behind Gaius’s shoulder on the blue tiled ledge of the sunken soaking tub.   
  


  
“There you are, my sweet puss.” Gaius reached up, scratched its cheek and cooed. “I’ve hardly spent any time with you, Pyramus. I'm a derelict master and you're such a good, lovely boy. Listen, sweetheart—I'll be leaving Rome soon, and you, my friend, will be in charge once again. Only three more fucking days of these wearisome obligations and I'm finally going home.”   
  
Home to his sprawling, rustic villa in Campania.   
  
Far from this ostentatious, colossal house on the Caelian that his father inherited after grandfather died. Less than a year after the mansion had been renovated and all redecorated, a gang of the despot's butchers broke down the door and dragged dear old dad, the accused traitor, away to his death. Gaius and his mother barely escaped Rome alive. And yet, somehow, through all the suffering and fear that strangled the city during the tyrant’s reign, this monstrosity of brick and stone survived, still dwarfing its neighbors on the hill.   
  
This place was fucking spooky. Gaius swore that the spirits of his ancestors roamed the estate. More than a few times, he’d walked down a corridor or enter a room and a strange, frigid breeze would tickle his skin, causing the wispy golden hairs on his forearms to stand on end. Sinister ice-cold gusts of outrage mixed with despair. Gaius made all the proper sacrifices on the holy days, but it never seemed to help.  The house was cursed. Perhaps the Fabii were cursed as well.   
  
The flame of the oil lamp that was hanging from a bracket on the back wall of the bath suddenly tripled in size and flickered violently. Pyramus froze and stopped purring.  
  
“It’s all right, puss—just a visit from Father’s pissed off ghost. There’s nothing to avenge anymore, old man! They’re all dead now, those bastards that murdered you. It’s over, so stop haunting me. I can’t do a fucking thing. Got it?”  
  
Gaius rubbed his eyes and grabbed his silver cup off the ledge of the tub. After he washed down the lump in his throat with a sip of overly sweet Gallic wine, he pursed his lips in disgust and looked into the vessel. He should have ordered some dry Falerian grape instead.  
  
Pyramus’s whiskers drooped forward and his tufted ears folded back as he closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch of his master’s damp fingers. When Gaius pulled his hand away, the exotic African feline lifted one of its paws in protest.   
  
Gaius chuckled. He rubbed the soft underside of the cat's furry chin, and whispered, “Can’t ever get enough loving, can you? You’re as bad as Simon, Pyramus.”   
  
Over the sound of a small waterfall gurgling in a corner, a faint shuffling of fabric rustled behind Gaius’s head. Pyramus’s large ears pricked up. The cat turned its head towards the noise and stared unblinking, its pupils round and dark.   
  
Gaius exhaled silently and pulled his hand back, slow and steady.   
  
His dagger was right there, resting by his discarded clothes on the edge of the pool.    
  
Right fucking there.  
  
When Pyramus hissed and leapt away, Gaius lunged across the bath. Water splashed everywhere. The dagger handle was almost in his grasp when the leather sole of a sandal crushed his right wrist, pinning his arm to the wet, polished tiles.  
  
“Too slow.”    
  
A large hand grabbed his knife off the floor while another clenched a fistful of Gaius’s thick sopping hair and jerked his head back.  The blade hugged just below his larynx.   
  
“You’re out of practice, Commander.”  
  
Gaius stared into the man's eyes. “How did you get in here?”   
  
The grip on his hair tightened. “You underestimate my talents.”   
  
“Not likely.”  
  
As he shoved the dagger away from his throat, Gaius twisted around and clamped on to the intruder’s ankle. He pulled the squatting giant off balance and dragged him, feet first and fully clothed, into the heated pool. The dagger flew across the room and landed with a loud clink. They grunted and grappled without saying a word, wrestling for control in the shallow water.  When Gaius found himself pinned, one arm twisted behind his bare back, he kicked the larger man’s feet out from under him, and watched a head of dark hair sink below the surface. A flurry of air bubbles came up from the bottom of the pool.  Gaius stuck his hand under and yanked him up by his ear.  
  
“How exactly the fuck did you get in here?” Gaius barked, as he released his fierce pinch.   
  
“Ow!  Shit, Gaius—that bloody hurt.”  
  
“Did Marcia see you?”  
  
Breathing hard, Lucius combed back his dripping mop of short hair with his fingers and laughed. “Yes, your wife saw me.”  After he pulled his soaked tunic over his head in one clumsy motion, Luc settled his muscled, naked body into the water across from Gaius.  “She was most gracious under the circumstances. You’re one lucky man.”  
  
Gaius leaned back against the edge of the bath pool, crossed his arms and gnawed on his lower lip. “Well, I’m waiting for an explanation.”   
  
“Hmm? Oh, why am I here? Well, it seems that our empress decided it was time for one of those daft bird gatherings of hers. Aurelia wanted Marcia to accompany her to the bash, so I escorted my bride all the way over here to fetch your lovely wife. Beautiful afternoon for a stroll.” Lucius coughed and pointed to the wine cup. “May I? I’m bloody parched.”  
  
Gaius nodded once with a sneer.  He gritted his teeth in a sorry attempt to mask his smile, as Luc crawled over on all fours, the mounds of his glistening toned bum bobbing above the bath water. Lucius took a healthy swig of wine and wiped his mouth with his forearm.  
  
“Blech! Terrible wine, Lord Fabius. So, anyway, your guards are now escorting the ladies to the palace.” Luc leaned over, waggling his thick, black brows. “We’re alone, soldier.”   
  
Gaius took the cup back, finished off the last swallow with a grimace, and threw it against a wall. Blood rushed to his aching cock. He scooted closer, and playfully flicked one of Luc’s dark brown nipples.   
  
Gaius asked, “How long do you think we have?”  
  
“I have…” Lucius cupped his chin and brushed his mouth with parted lips. “Absolutely no fucking idea.”   
  
He shoved both hands under the younger man’s arse and pulled him up so close that Gaius was forced to part his legs and straddle Luc’s thighs.  They both plunged their hands under the water and rubbed their shafts against each other, pulling and stroking and groaning.   
  
“Fuck, I need more than a cock rub.” Luc cried in frustration, before snaking his hungry tongue between Gaius’s lips. Their mouths fought for dominance, biting and sucking with gasps and growls. When Gaius grabbed Luc’s lower lip with his teeth, Luc pressed his nose against Gaius’s forehead and mumbled, barely coherent. “Let me have your arse, darling. Let me wear the laurel for a change.”  
  
Gaius let go and leaned back, his face twisted in confusion. “What?”   
  
Lucius descended on his neck, sucking and nibbling, close to bruising the skin in spots. “You heard me. I want to fuck you. C’mon, for old times sake. Pretend we’re back in Athens— insane and insatiable. It’s been forever since I’ve been the Zeus to your Ganymede.” Lucius blew a warm breath against the sensitive spot behind Gaius’s left ear and then nipped his squishy earlobe, as he stroked Gaius’s throbbing cock under the water.  
  
The sensation was intoxicating. The gorgeous bastard knew just how to suckle on his ear lobes. He’d definitely have to teach the Dacian that technique. Gaius let his head fall back, and closed his eyes. His thick lashes fanned out like wet feathers. Every inch of his skin tingled with excitement, as his balls drew up in anticipation.   
  
“You have your Celtic whore to pummel, counselor.”  
  
“True, I have Bryaxis, but…” Luc's tongue licked a trail along Gaius’s jaw from his ear to his chin. “Right now all I want you, soldier.”  
  
“All right, then. Argue your case.”   
  
Lucius shook his head and rolled his eyes, before purring. “Your tight fortress craves to be sieged by my battering ram.”  
  
With his heavy eyelids now half-open, Gaius furrowed his brows and smirked. “Come again?”  
  
“I want to impale you up to the hilt with my steel sword.”  
  
“Not convincing me, Luc.”  
  
Sticking the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, Lucius tickled his lover’s sides with his long fingers. “Let me assault your bastion with my iron spear.”  
  
“Shit, that one was fucking dreadful!”   
  
“Surrender, or I’ll keep going.  I’ve got a long list of scintillating military metaphors to seduce you, soldier.  Let’s see—I want to pierce your sweet portal with my robust…”  
  
Gaius pushed Luc’s hands away. “Enough! You’re fucking relentless.”  
  
“Hey, I’m a lawyer.” Luc raised both hands and winked.   
  
“And a damned persuasive one at that.”  
  
“Wait—what was that? Quiet in the courtroom! Did our esteemed Lord Fabius, Commander of the Lucky Fourth, just confess that he wants my sorry old prick up his delicious arse? This calls for a victory celebration.”  
  
Gaius grabbed Lucius’s face in both hands and snapped.  “I’ve sat through enough fucking celebrations for this year, you son of a bitch.”  As he kissed Luc with every bit of force he could muster, Gaius rubbed his groin against Luc’s thigh, and then lifted himself up on his knees, teasing the engorged head of Luc’s cock with his slippery crack.  
  
Panting for air, Lucius broke off the brutal kiss. “Slow down, darling.  Turn around and let me warm you up. It’s been a long fucking time since you’ve been buggered.” Luc paused. “It has been a long time, right?”  
  
“Well…” Gaius squinted.  
  
“You’ve let someone else…” Luc covered his mouth with his hand and cleared his throat to muffle the pained crack in his voice, but Gaius heard it.   
  
“Luc, really? For shit’s sake, you claimed my virgin schoolboy arse before our studies even started. I wore your heavy gold chain in plain sight for my whole first year in Athens, didn’t I? You’re the only one who’s buggered me, counselor.”  Gaius looked him straight in the eyes, before cracking a grin. “Now kiss my buttress, you filthy plebian.”  
  
Lucius sighed with relief and laughed at the same time. “Oh, shit—what a pompous arse I was back then. You were barely off the boat when I told those other third year twats that the new, red headed kid was mine. By the gods, you were so beautiful—so young.  _We_  were so young.” Lucius kissed him softly on the lips.   
  
Gaius ran his fingers through Lucius’ thick, short ebony hair. He noticed a few grey strands at the temples. “That was nearly twenty ago. Everything’s different now, isn’t it? I mean, we’re still mates—best friends, right? We always will be, Luc. Nothing will change that. But…”  
  
“I know, darling. Leave the past in the past. Act like a proper, respectable citizen and all that rubbish.” Luc stared down at his twiddling fingers and swallowed.   
  
Gaius moved closer and lightly brushed Luc’s cheek with his thumb pad. “We’ll still see each other when I’m in the city.  And you’ll come down to Campania for a visit when you can. We’ll find time for a romp here and there. Don’t toss out those shackles and floggers, right?”  
  
Lucius chuckled, but his crinkled eyes were glassy wet. After he wiped his perfectly straight, runny nose, he looked up with a forced smile.  
  
“I'll keep the toys. Listen, I know it can’t be like it was between us back in Greece anymore, but… I still want to fuck you so hard that you hobble around the Senate chamber tomorrow morning.”   
  
Gaius pressed his lips together in a smirk and turned around to bend over the ledge. “Ah, so that’s it! At last, the truth comes out. You want to bugger me and then mock me?” He snorted, as he raised his bum and braced himself on both elbows.   
  
“You’re leaving soon. I want to send you off good and sore for the long ride to Neapolis. Whatever happened to that gold chain anyway?” Luc asked, before he spread apart Gaius' cheeks with both hands and lapped warm circles with his tongue up Gaius's crack from his sac to his sensitive hole.   
  
“I still have… oh, fuck. Yes. Yes, exactly like that.” Shit, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this. Gaius squirmed against Lucius's strong hands and wiggled his hips, trying to get something—anything—inside of him. It  _had_  been years.   
  
After several languid, teasing licks, Luc pushed his long tongue into Gaius’s hot tightness until the younger man cried out and balled his hands into tight fists. Slowly Lucius pulled his tongue out and mumbled into the curve of Gaius’s wet cheek. “Mmm, I think I’ll make you come first, just eat you out until you spill your seed into the bath.”  
  
“Fuck that. Screw me with your cock. Do it now!”  
  
Lucius raised his powerful arm and slapped Gaius’s bum hard. The sharp clap echoed throughout the dim room.   
  
Gaius's shock quickly softened to incredulous delight.    
  
“Well,  _that_  was unexpected. Perhaps I have underestimated you, Lord Petronius.”  
  
“You want the cock, you play nice. Do not order me around like some barbarian slave, first year. I’m in charge here,  _Eromenos_.”  
  
Gaius hadn’t heard that term of endearment in so long. A rush of vivid memories ripped through his heart.   
  
All those chilly winter nights in Athens they'd spent cuddled in Luc’s warm bed in the dormitory.   
  
The scent of that Egyptian oil they would buy at the market by the port, and the smooth flavor of that delectable Chalkidian wine.   
  
And the weight of Luc’s ownership chain around his neck as he fidgeted in the auditorium of the lecture hall, trying to pay attention to some grey-bearded, wrinkled twit expound on Euclid’s theorems.   
  
And that time Luc cradled his dazed shivering body in his strong arms after Gaius suffered that endless, terrifying seizure in the library after hours. Thank the gods that the place had been deserted and none of the other lads had witnessed him thrashing about on the floor, frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog.  
  
But, most of all, he remembered Luc’s passionate, tearful promise to never say a word to anyone, ever, about how Gaius Fabius Rufus, ward of the imperial court, had the fucking dreaded ‘sacred disease.’   
  
The lunacy.   
  
That’s what his little brother had called it after a violent fit knocked him to the ground when they were both young boys.  
  
Lucius and Publius—what an odd pair of confidants to be safeguarding such a grave secret.  
  
Gaius swallowed and looked over his shoulder. “Yes, my  _Erastes_.”  
  
After gently kissing the warm, ruddy handprint on Gaius's bum, Lucius snarled. “I’m no Greek, pretty slut. We’re in Rome now. Remember? Try again.”  
  
Gaius shook his head with a chuckle. This would be the last time that he and Lucius played their forbidden game. It was bittersweet, but it was time.  
  
Time to end this.  
  
End them.  
  
“Yes, Dominus.”  
  
He rested his cheek against the damp cool floor. Soon his whole body quivered with pleasure under the caress of Lucius’s talented mouth, while his mind drifted off to Campania.  
  
Shit, he couldn’t wait to get back down to the seashore. Go home and play with his beautiful boys. A salacious vision of Paulus’s lithe, pale body folded over the edge of his desk in his villa office popped into his head. He would learn his feisty Dacian’s birth name in short order. It was only a matter of time.

  



	10. Chapter 10

**AD 107  
The Bay of Naples, Gaius Fabius' Villa**  
  
  
Walking down a dim corridor of the stable house, Allerix scratched his short black beard and chewed on his lower lip. He stopped, just half a step outside the open door. Through the iron bars of the lone window, beams of late afternoon light flooded Nic's room, painting the stone grey walls with a brilliant wash of orange. From where Alle stood, Nic’s private cell seemed ordinary enough; there was a cushioned bed and a small table and chair, and a wooden storage box against one wall. Seated on the edge of the bed, the blond man’s eyes were downcast, his hands folded gracefully in his lap. Alle couldn’t decide if Nic was sad or bored or both.   
  
“What do you want?”   
  
“Simon…” Allerix cleared his throat. “Simon said ask if you need help with your chores.”   
  
After he pulled apart his long, intertwined fingers and leaned back on his elbows, Nic slowly looked up at him. Shit, those deep vibrant blue eyes always caught Alle off guard.   
  
“I finished early. So, no—I don’t need any help, Paulus.” Nic answered flatly and then stared down at the floor, rolling a pebble around under the sole of his sandal. “Must be easier for you to move about the place now, huh? Your cock sucking must be fucking impressive for Max to release you from those irons so soon.”  
  
Without thinking, Alle raised his hands. The shackles had been gone for close to four days. The dark purple bruises that wrapped his wrists and ankles were much less visible.   
  
“Um, I…”  
  
Allerix’s mind raced as he tried to think of a reasonable way to prolong this rare conversation.  Even after many days here, he’d barely spoken with Nicomedes. Although they lived on the same hall in the same building and shared the same meals, they’d never spent any time alone together. He needed to talk to him and learn Nic's story. Alle needed as much information as possible if he had any chance of escape.  
  
“Simon went to stables.” Alle blurted out, deliberately fumbling over every word and pronunciation that he’d mastered as a boy. “To water horses, I think. What are your chores, Nicomedes?”  
  
“Why do you care?” Nic kicked the pebble and it bounced off the wall across from the bed.   
  
Alle stared blankly at Nic, and Nic stared at the pebble, before he grumbled. “I take care of Dom’s fish. And the mice.”  
  
Allerix had no fucking idea what that meant, but he moved closer, putting his foot on the threshold. “Can I cross?”  
  
“I suppose.” Nic shuffled over and patted the feather-and-straw mattress.   
  
Maybe an appeal to his ego would work? After a few moments of silence passed, Allerix mumbled. “You are very beautiful, Nicomedes.”  
  
Nic tossed his long, wavy hair over his shoulder with disinterest. “Save your bullshit flattery, fur face. I’m caged—remember? And besides, Simon’s the favorite, not me. That’s what you’re aiming for, isn’t it?  To be Dom’s new favorite?” Nic’s tone was direct and bitter.  
  
“I don’t know. What does favorite mean?”  
  
“The favorite pet sleeps with Dom in the main house when he’s here.  Not every night, but much of the time. Sometimes in the bed, sometimes on a mat on the floor. And Simon gets more attention from Dom.  And more presents and…”    
  
“So it’s good to be the favorite?”  
  
“Very good, especially if Dom takes you along to parties. Buys you expensive clothes, shows you off, lets you eat from his fingers and kisses you in front of his posh friends…”  
  
Alle nibbled on his thumbnail and arched an eyebrow. “Friends?”  
  
“You know, other fucking rich aristocrats… army officers, senators and court types and people like that. But Simon’s still too boorish and spastic to go with Dom to those dinners. I expect he’ll learn. He’s a sharp and eager little shit.”   
  
“Were you the favorite before Simon?”  
  
“No.  I’ve never been… Nic’s voice trailed off. “Not really.”   
  
There was more uncomfortable silence, except for sea gulls screeching outside, fighting over a late day meal.  
  
“Does that metal thing on your cock hurt?” Alle pointed to Nic’s covered groin.  
  
“The cage? No, not as long as my pathetic dick stays soft and useless. If I get hard, it’s hurts like mad. There’s sharp little bumps on the inside, so don’t get flirty with me, all right?” Nic chuckled, but his forced laughter didn’t mask his despair. “Max was right though—I’m lucky to have my damn balls.”  
  
Allerix nodded, and quickly looked around the room for another potential topic, one less prickly. He spotted a large, covered clay jar over in the shadows of one corner. It was strange; the sides were pierced with randomly placed small holes.   
  
“What is in that container?”  
  
“You’re full of questions, aren’t you? I keep something very special in that jar.”  Nic shot him a genuine, eye-crinkling smile and his voice softened. “My friend’s in there. Want to meet him?”  
  
“Um, all right.”  
  
Nicomedes walked over to the round, red earthen pot and lifted the lid off by its handle. Crouching down, he carefully lowered his hand inside the vessel and scooped up something.   
  
“We have to keep our voices down. I mean, we can’t really wake him up right now, but still…”  
  
Shit, Alle hoped it wasn’t a snake. He loved animals, but he fucking despised snakes.  
  
After he sat back down the bed, Nic leaned over and opened his fingers.   
  
“Here he is.”  
  
  
  
“What  _is_  that?” Alle wondered, his lips parted and turned up at the corners.  
  
“He’s a dormouse. They normally hibernate after the autumn harvest, but I’ve trained him to sleep during the summer because I’m usually stuck indoors during the winter. He keeps me company. We play and we talk, and I’ve taught him a few tricks even.”   
  
“Did you catch him?”  
  
“No, nothing like that.”  When he let his guard down, Nic had a charming laugh. “He was the runt of this big litter and his foot was all mangled.  Deformed, you know.  So I asked if I could keep him since it was clear that he’d never amount to much of a snack. And Max said yes.  Well, it was Dom who gave permission for me to keep him, of course.”  
  
“Um, what do you mean by  _snack_?” Alle regretted the question as soon as it rolled off his tongue.  
  
“They eat dormice like him. Break their tiny necks and then stuff their guts with meat, spices and other shit, and then cook them.  Max says they’re pretty tasty, and Dom fucking loves them. That’s why we raise dormice here at the villa—so there’s always a fresh supply.”    
  
Allerix twisted his face in disgust. There was no sport in feasting on helpless little creatures. Except for rabbits. They were delicious roasted to a crisp on a spit, with vegetables.   
  
“Yeah, I’d never eat one either, unless Dom or Max told me to. Caring for the mice, feeding them—that’s one of my chores. And so one day, I opened up one of the breeding jars and found this little fellow squashed under its mother and, well, you know the rest.”  
  
Curled up in a ball on its back with its eyes shut tight, the mouse opened its mouth, wiggled its long black whiskers and snuggled deeper into Nic’s cupped palm.  
  
“It’s… adorable.” Alle gently rubbed the sleeping rodent’s soft, fluffy tail with his pointer finger.  “Is that… is he snoring?”   
  
“Yeah." Grinning ear to ear, Nic let his muscles relax. "He snores like a little old man when he’s hibernating.”   
  
“Does he have a name?”  
  
“Course he does. I named him Achilles—you know, the bad foot and all.”    
  
Allerix caught himself just in time. The tales of Achilles had been some of Alle's favorite stories. “No, I don’t know. Who is Achilles?”  
  
“He was a Greek hero that could only be defeated…shit, never mind.  It’s a long story. A really long bloody story.”  
  
“Can I… I mean… will Achilles let me hold him?”  
  
“Sure.  Just be gentle.  Yeah, that’s right—bend you fingers in and curl your palm into a pouch.”  
  
As Alle cradled the dormouse in his hand, he pressed on.  
  
“Are you a Greek like the hero Achilles, Nicomedes?”  
  
“First of all, call me Nic. I’m fucking tired of hearing you stumble over all the letters.  And a Greek? Fuck if I know. My mother was a prostitute, perhaps she still is, so who knows what I am. Nobody at the brothel cared about that. About me. When I was born, those sons of bitches named me Culus. Do you know what that means?”  
  
Alle shook his head.   
  
“It's slang for ‘anus,’ ‘bum-hole.’ Lovely, right? ‘Come here, my tight, sweet little Culus.’ Fuckers. When Dom became my master, he changed it right off to Nicomedes—‘dwell on victory.’ And then he went off to war and he won. Dom says I'm his good luck charm.”  
  
Allerix swallowed, but stayed focused on the tiny ball of fur slumbering in his palm. Exchanging grins back and forth, they both petted the mouse, and Nic completely dropped the last of his defenses.   
  
“I was born in Neapolis.  That’s the city down the road, not all that far from here. Fucking place is filled with filthy whorehouses. Anyway, I started working as soon as I could walk, fetching water and scrubbing the dried cum off the beds—whatever needed to be done. Then, when I turned nine or so, the pimp started whoring me out. Mum couldn’t say anything.  I don't think that she really wanted to stop it. I was popular and I made good coin. She was proud of me.”  
  
“Is that where…” Alle almost choked on the loathsome title.  “Is that where  _Dominus_ bought you?”  
  
“What? No, no... Dom doesn’t go to fucking brothels, Paulus.”  Nic snickered until he coughed into his fist. “The pimp got sick of my shitty attitude and sold me to this nasty, fat bastard when I was, I dunno… thirteen or something. The prick was a merchant and bloody cruel, with clumps of hair all over his disgusting body except on his ugly, thick skull.  He got off on whipping us before he fucked us. I watched two other whores die while I lived at his slum of a house.”  
  
“Die?”  
  
“Yeah. He beat them to death, poor lads. They were nice kids. But I survived, scarred but alive.  See…” Nic pulled down the collar of his loose green tunic and exposed his right shoulder.  A crisscross pattern of deep, silvery pale lines disfigured his otherwise smooth, tanned skin.  
  
“But then one day, me and my former master were at the main market by the docks, and Dom marched right over to us, out of nowhere, and took me away from him. I mean, that prick didn’t want to sell me; the pig loved the way I could take the flogger. But when Dom wants something—anything—people don’t say no.  Or they can’t.”  Nicomedes shook his head with a smile. “Shit, that was so long ago. I was nineteen, which was pretty old for a street whore. It still seems like yesterday.”  
  
They were both quiet for a while, until Allerix asked.  
  
“Does  _he_  flog you for fun?”  
  
“Dom? No. Never. He’s never once whipped me to get off. Not for real. Spanking, sure—but that doesn’t count, right?” Nicomedes winked, and a slight flush colored his bronzed cheeks.  
  
Alle smirked and added. “That Varius fellow is scary, though.”  
  
“Yeah, I know—what with that nasty scar across his face! But Varius isn’t that bad. His wife and children died from a sickness while he was away at war, so Dom hired him, you know, to be the guard here. He’s as strong as a fucking bull, but he can’t move that fast. Something about a battle injury. Just stay out of trouble and he’ll leave you alone.”   
  
“Here…” Alle handed the mouse back to Nic. “Thank you.”  
  
“For what? It’s just a fucking mouse. No one will miss it when it’s dead, except for me.”  
  
“I will. Can I play with Achilles when he wakes up?”  
  
“Yeah, sure.  I’ll show you his tricks. Mice are smarter than most people realize, you know.”  
  
“I believe you.”  
  
A flurry of steps came from the hallway outside Nic’s room.  Simon skidded to a stop, bracing himself against the doorpost.   
  
“Nic, a letter’s arrived!”  
  
Nicomedes raised his brows and cocked his head slightly. “And I care about this because…?”  
  
Simon bent over and pressed his palms against his thighs, fighting to catch his breath. Finally, he raised his head and pushed his brown curls out of his eyes.   
  
“It’s a letter. From Dom. He’ll be home. In five days.”  
  
“That’s good news.” Nic let out a long sigh and nuzzled Achilles with his nose. “I might not be around much longer. C'mon, let's put you back in your nest.”  
  
Simon rolled his eyes as he put his hands on his hips. “Dom’s not going to sell you, you daft shit!”  
  
Nic got up and walked over to the jar in the corner, mumbling over his shoulder. “You don’t know that, Simon. Dom could sell me, he could sell you. Fuck, anything could happen.”  
  
"Dom would never sell me."  
  
"You know... you're right, twat.  He wouldn't."  
  
Wringing his hands, Allerix closed his eyes and swallowed.  
  
Only five more fucking days, and anything could happen.  
  
  
 **~~~~~~**  
  
  
 **Rome, Gaius Fabius’s mansion on the Caelian Hill**  
  
  
  
The spacious balcony off their winter dining room looked out over a dense landscape of buildings that were crammed together down in the valley below. The cityscape view from up here was spectacular, especially in the first rays of morning sun.  The early light reflected off the polished, creamy-white marbles, the terracotta roofs and the red brick facades, bathing the center of Rome in a warm, rosy glow.   
  
“There you are. You’re up extra early.”   
  
Marcia mumbled as she held her hand up to her mouth and yawned. She pulled her thin summer mantle around her petite frame before reclining on a couch. A few feet away, Gaius sat motionless, gazing at the scenery. Equipped with scissors and two combs, Marcia’s favorite nymph, Melissa, was busy trimming his thick auburn hair, snipping off the tips of his curls here and there. In the cool morning breezes, clipped red ringlets swirled about over the black-and-white mosaic floor.  
  
Without turning to greet her, Gaius answered. “There’s a Senate meeting this morning regarding the appropriation of extra funds for the emperor’s grand market complex. I’m expected to be in attendance to demonstrate support for Apollodorus’s outrageously expensive project.”  
  
Marcia furrowed her brow in confusion. “The emperor’s construction plans actually require the elders’ consent?”  
  
“No, but our Lord Emperor prefers to secure a gesture of approval from the powerless farts. You know Marcus. He’s extremely cautious when it concerns public perceptions, at least here in Rome. Doesn’t give a fucking damn what people think of him on the battlefield, as long as his officers obey him, his enemies fear him, and the troops love him.”  
  
Marcia accepted the glass offered to her by another beautiful girl. She took a tiny sip of the undiluted wine and asked, “What about your hoard of clients? I didn’t see any of those hapless fools lurking in our reception hall on my way out to the terrace.”  
  
“This morning’s salutations are over, dear. I handed out the appropriate favors and pretended to listen to all of their horseshit requests. By the gods, Titus Manlius is a fucking idiot! Did you know that witless buffoon closed his baths on the Quirinal without consulting me?”  
  
“Gads, the horror!  Did you chop off his head?”  
  
“Don’t mock me, wife. After these unending days of celebrations, I’m in no mood for ridicule.”  
  
She got up and rubbed Melissa’s shoulder. “That’s enough, pet. Go to the master’s bedchamber and fetch his toga.”  After Melissa left, Marcia raked her fingers through Gaius’s hair, fluffing his silky curls and massaging his scalp.  “I woke up alone in a cold bed.”  
  
“I had to prepare for this early meeting and didn’t want to wake you.  Besides, the mattress should still have been warm, given how hard and long I fucked you into it for half the night.”  
  
“Mmm, yes… that was an unexpected surprise. What on earth made you decide to visit my bed?”  
  
“I’m your bloody husband and I was horny—as were you, my darling, if I remember our dinner conversation correctly. By the gods, do I need a formal invitation every single time?”  Gaius leaned his head back to look up at her. “I admit that I was relieved to find you alone.”  
  
“And if I hadn’t been?”  
  
“Simple. I would have screwed you and your girls, multiple times in every possible combination—and then I would have no doubt overslept, missed the Senate meeting and climbed to the top of Marcus’s shit list.”  
  
She pecked his forehead and bent down to whisper into his ear. “Well, it was a good thing then that I was companionless for a change, wasn’t it? Gaius, darling, there’s a dinner party at Aulus Spurius’s estate tonight and I thought...”  
  
He cut her off mid-sentence. “I won’t be here.”  
  
“Is that right?” Marcia untangled her slender fingers from his locks and leaned her hip against the stone balustrade. “Care to tell your beloved wife where you’ll be, Lord Commander?”  
  
“On the road to Campania, at long last.”  
  
“So, you’ve changed your plans? I thought you weren’t leaving Rome for at least two more days?”  
  
“Our dear and generous friend, Lucius Petronius, offered to cover my obligations so that I could depart the city earlier than scheduled. I would have implored him to attend this Senate rubbish in my stead as well, if I could have gotten away with it.”  Gaius winked at her with a smirk.  
  
Marcia crossed her arms under her small breasts and narrowed her hazel eyes. “So you’re leaving the capital immediately after the Senate deliberations?”  
  
“My travel bags are packed and the horses are ready. Will you miss me, darling?”   
  
“No.” She answered without emotion, before cracking a coy grin. “Well perhaps just a little—especially after your performance last night. But I won’t miss your surly, foul mood of late. Come back satiated and cheerful, or I won’t let you in the door. You’ll be forced to sleep on the entrance steps, alongside that grouchy watch dog.”   
  
“You’re a cruel warden, woman. I trust that you’ll be dutiful while I’m gone. Spin baskets of wool and weave a new tunic for me in the atrium like a proper matron?”  
  
“Not on your life, bastard.  But I promise to be prudent, as always.”    
  
She walked over and cupped his face in her hands. “All right, I’m off to make my morning sacrifices, and then I intend to enjoy a leisurely bath before  _my_  obligatory business at the palace. Who knows—perhaps we’ll have a baby of our own next spring. I’ll pray to Juno and Diana at our garden shrine—implore them for fertile blessings.”  
  
“Give those spiteful bitches my warmest regards.”  
  
“Blasphemy will never get us a baby, Gaius. A son would bolster your chances to succeed Marcus as the next emperor. You should make offerings before you leave the city.  Stop by the altar on the Aventine and beseech the goddess for an heir.” She lifted his chin and asked. “Are you even listening to me?”   
  
Sneering, Gaius raised an eyebrow in contempt. When Marcia leaned down and kissed him softly on the mouth, he wrapped his muscular, lightly-freckled arms around her waist and pulled her closer. His lips were tender but his tongue demanding. She melted into his forceful kiss; he slid his hand down her curves and pinched the soft flesh on the sensitive underside of her bum.   
  
“Stop that!” She chuckled into his mouth. “I won’t miss you at all, barbarian.”   
  
He was leaving, again. She wouldn’t see her gorgeous, ornery general for months.  But at least now that the wars were over, the odds were far better that he’d come home alive and unharmed.   
  
Perhaps they would be fortunate this time.  Perhaps the gods would finally impregnate her barren womb. She couldn't accept it if they steadfastly denied her a child—denied Gaius the rightful heir he needed. He’d wind up being forced to adopt an adult as his inheritor.  And there was no way on this earth that Lucius Petronius would be named Gaius’s heir.  If he did, she’d never be rid of her husband’s handsome but insufferable ex-lover. Besides, Lucius was a bloody plebian... and a lawyer, no less. And his jokes were awful.     
  
She pulled back with a smile, her small left hand resting on Gaius’s broad shoulder, and stroked his sun-kissed cheek with her right thumb.  
  
“I wish you a speedy meeting and safe travels, Lord Fabius. Have a wonderful time at the seaside, and do remember to write to me once in a while. And please, whatever you do, fucking relax and try to have some fun.”  
  
“You’re adorable when you curse, you know that.” Gaius grinned, revealing his deep dimples. “Trust me, Domina. I intend to have cartloads of fucking fun.”  
  
~~~~~~


	11. Chapter 11

 

  
  
**AD 107  
Bay of Naples, Gaius Fabius's seaside villa**  
  
  
Allerix pressed his back against the prickly holly branches, and held his breath. Varius was just on the other side of this thick, tall hedge—his heavy steps crunching the gravel on the path, the raspy wheeze of the guard's labored breathing.  
  
“Where are you, boy? I saw you take it, so let’s save us both some trouble and show yourself.”  
  
 _Think._  
  
“That’s why you ran, isn’t it? Pets aren’t allowed to play with knives, boy.”  
  
Alle stayed completely still and tried to ignore the pounding in his chest. Sweat soaked his scalp and poured down his neck. He wanted to brush off his dripping forehead with his forearm, but he didn’t dare move. It had been foolish to think that he could simply run away without anyone noticing, and now here he was, within a hair’s breadth of being caught and whipped within an inch of his life.  
  
 _Think, for shit’s sake!_  
  
In his left hand, Alle clutched the wooden handle of the knife that he’d stolen from the stable house kitchen. It had been sitting right out on the counter, ripe for nicking. It was small and blunt, but it would have to do. The Roman could be here as early as tomorrow, if Alle reckoned the distances correctly. He had to leave, now. As he gripped the weapon tighter, his knuckles paled to white, and his fingers ached.   
  
Far off in the distance, across the large expanse of green lawn, Max and Simon were heading into the main house.  Max carried a bundle of fabrics in his arms and said something. Simon laughed and skipped up the steps, right behind Max. The service door opened.  No one closed it.  
  
“Just give old Varius the knife, lad, and I’ll go easier on you.”  
  
Leather straps slapped against flesh.   
  
“No? Very well then. I slaughtered hundreds of you vile Dacian vermin back in my day. You’re cowards, the whole bloody lot of you. I’ll round up the stable hands and fetch the dog and flush you out of whatever rat hole you’ve crawled into. Then you'll answer to the flogger.”  
  
Allerix swore under his breath and gnawed on his full lower lip—both habits he’d had since boyhood—and squinted up into the oppressive sun, high and bright in the midday sky.  
  
 _It won’t work._  
  
He looked to his left, and to his right.  There was no one around—only that scar-faced brute on the other side of this leafy hedge. The grinding of Varius’s boots on the gravel path grew quieter until the sound faded away to silence. Any moment now the field slaves would return from the vineyards and assemble here in this yard, hungry for their first real meal of the day. And Varius would be back, with a gang of armed stable hands.   
  
 _It has to work._  
  
With a deep breath, Alle took off sprinting across the soft grass, and slipped in through the service door of the main house. Although he’d been in the building before, the twisting maze of intersecting hallways and dead end alcoves confused him.  Dashing through the colorfully painted corridors, he moved blindly but quickly, until he reached the open door of one of the more sparsely decorated guest rooms.  
  
Max and Simon were inside.  
  
His back to the door, the slave handler was arranging the blankets on a couch at the other end of the room, as Simon babbled with excitement, gesturing wildly with his hands, about his master’s imminent return.  
  
Alle wiped his upper lip with his tunic sleeve and made his move. He grabbed Simon from behind, one arm wrapped around the boy’s slender torso, the blade’s edge pressed against Simon’s neck. With a shaky voice, Allerix whispered into his soft, brunet curls.   
  
“Don’t fight me, Simon. I won’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
Simon didn’t move or utter a word. Instinctively, he lightly pressed his arse against Alle’s thighs in a quiet, nearly imperceptible gesture of submission. The blade rose and fell when Simon swallowed.   
  
No doubt bewildered over the sudden silence, Max turned around.  
  
“What the…? Paulus! Put that bloody knife down!"  
  
Alle shifted his weight to get a better grip on the younger boy and the weapon. Simon closed his eyes and started to cry.  
  
“Stay back, Max! I won’t hurt Simon if he follows my orders. We’re leaving.”   
  
“Leaving?”  
  
“I can’t stay here. I can’t fucking be that bastard's slave. His whore.”  
  
Max shook his head and sighed, before speaking soft and low.  
  
“Listen to me. You fought them and your people lost. You’re a spoil of war—just another slave—and a lucky one at that. The master’s not a cruel man. Now give me that knife and let Simon go.”  
  
Max took a cautious step forward, holding out his huge palm, his jaw squared in determination.  
  
“Not a cruel man? He fucking killed my kin—my friends. That monster destroyed my lands!”   
  
“Exactly. The fighting’s over, and they won. There’s no place to run to anymore, Paulus.”  
  
“You’re wrong. A few escaped to the mountains."  
  
"And how do you figure you'll get there? On foot, with Simon slowing you down for the entire journey?"  
  
"There’s a port near here, down the road. There must be ships. I’m leaving, and Simon’s coming with me until...”  
  
“Until?”  
  
“Until I can get far enough away—until I can fucking find my way home. You used to be free once, Max. Remember? I need to go back home. Let us leave, Max... please.”  
  
“And then what? Whether you kidnap Simon or kill him, Commander Fabius will hunt you down, on or off a damn ship. He’ll stop at nothing until he finds you. What on earth are you thinking, boy?"  Max paused and rubbed his temples, and pointed to the window. "And then...and then there’s Varius.  How do you imagine that you’ll slip by him?  You think you can hold off an experienced veteran soldier with a cook’s knife?”  
  
“I can fucking try.” Alle’s voice cracked. He sucked on his upper lip, and his eyes began to water. “I at least have to try.”  
  
“Listen to me…”  
  
Max's jaw dropped when he glanced over Alle’s shoulder.   
  
Before Alle could react, a muscular arm came around from behind and clamped like a vise around his throat. A powerful bicep and thick forearm pressed against the sides of his neck and cut off his air.  Cut off everything.  
  
Alle couldn’t talk. Shit, he couldn’t breathe.   
  
The kitchen knife dropped to the stone floor, as Alle grabbed and clawed and tried to push away, but the steady pressure only increased.  He grew dizzy and thrashed his legs in desperation.  After being kicked to the floor, Simon scrambled to his feet and scurried over behind Max. The stranglehold around Alle's neck became tighter and tighter, when a silky voice murmured softly into his ear.  
  
“You’re not going fucking anywhere, căţel. You’re mine.”  
  
The potentially lethal wrestling move that Gaius had mastered long ago in the gymnasium was both efficient and quick. There would be some bruising, but no permanent damage. Terrified and confused, Alle’s arms dropped and dangled helplessly by his sides. He sputtered incoherent nonsense right before he blacked out.   
  
“Well— I'm thrilled to see that everything's fucking under control, Maximus.” Gaius twisted his thin lips into a ferocious snarl.   
  
“Commander…”  
  
While Gaius lowered Alle’s limp body to the floor, Max tried to collect his jumbled thoughts.  “Sir, I have no excuse.  I was careless, and the Dacian is… well, he’s cagey, sir. And scared and…”  
  
“Damn right you have no excuse!”  Gaius yelled, and took a deep breath to control his temper, before softening his tone to smooth honey.   
  
“Simon—come here, pup.”   
  
With as much grace as possible on weak legs, Simon ran over and fell to his knees at his master’s feet. He moaned gratefully as he brushed his wet cheek against Gaius’s dirt-speckled calf.  While he fluffed the boy’s thick, luxurious locks with his right hand, Gaius glared at his freedman.   
  
“I warned you that he would be a handful, Maximus—until he’s broken, this feral mongrel requires close supervision.”   
  
“I…”  
  
“Enough! Haul the Dacian to the playroom and chain him to the ceiling ring. Leave him dressed. And close the shutters and extinguish the lamps in there. I’ll school the savage myself after my bath.”  
  
“Yes, Commander.”     
  
After he tossed Allerix’s listless body over his left shoulder like a sack of grain, Max headed straight for the large suite over in the other wing of the house. Gaius raked his fingers through his sun-streaked auburn hair, still damp and dark with sweat from travel.   
  
“Simon.”  
  
The boy looked up, his wide eyes peeping through his mop of curls, his cheeks streaked with tears and dirt.  Gaius lifted his chin with a gentle finger and turned Simon’s head back and forth, inspecting the boy’s sinuous neck for any signs of a wound.  Once he was confident that his pet was unharmed, his fierce amber eyes relaxed at the delicious vision of Simon’s quivering full mouth. Fuck, he’d missed the boy.  
  
“You did well by not struggling and getting yourself injured, pup. Are you all right?”  
  
Simon nodded.  
  
“You may speak, Simon.”  
  
“Thank you, Dominus.  Yes, I’m fine. Is… is Paulus badly hurt?” Simon immediately flinched. He hadn’t been given permission to ask a question.   
  
“No, sweetheart. He’s not badly hurt. He’ll be punished but that’s not your concern, now is it?”  Without warning, Gaius's gentle touch turned harsh. He grabbed a clump of Simon’s thick hair, and twisted the brown curls with his fingers. “Apparently, the discipline of all my pets has become rather lax during my absence.”   
  
Simon tried not to wince as he pressed his head up into his master’s clenched fist. He didn’t dare open his green eyes or even move a muscle when Max finally returned, panting.  
  
"The Dacian is shackled exactly as you specified, Commander."  
  
Gaius pulled Simon’s head back by his hair. “Simon, open those beautiful eyes for me. Go tell Atticus to prepare my bath. It was a long, shitty ride from Manlius’s stinking hovel, and I need a good soak and a cup of our best vintage. See that it’s done correctly.”  
  
“Yes, Dominus.”  
  
After Simon scampered out of the room, Gaius fumbled with the stubborn knot of his riding cloak. When he finally had it untied, he threw the garment on the couch with a disgusted huff and walked over to the window, his hands balled into fists, his back to his freedman. After a few moments of silence, Gaius turned around slowly, his nostrils flaring.  
  
“Max.”   
   
Max stood with his hands crossed behind his lower back, his gaze fixed to the floor. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“Damn it, look at me, Maximus! Are you sure—absolutely sure—that the Dacian’s bindings are fucking secure?”   
  
“Yes, Commander. I’m positive.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Gaius marched over, inches from Max’s face, and growled. “Go find Varius. Ten lashes to your negligent arse, and ten more to your careless back—out in the exercise yard, so that I can witness the flogging. Or would you rather I take away your freedom?”  
  
“No, sir.” Close to losing control, Max swallowed and bowed, before he left the room.   
  
Spitting out a string of curses, Gaius collapsed in the chair by the desk, and rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes. He leaned back and lifted his filthy legs, propping them up on the smooth desk. Letting his head fall back, Gaius sighed as he dragged both hands through his dusty, matted hair.   
  
“So much for that relaxing homecoming.”  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
“Ah, that’s… yes, right there! Shit, yes.”  
  
In the far corner of the room, a grey-haired slave ducked his head in the doorway and tossed another ladle of water over the hot rocks in the bronze brazier. With a loud hissing noise, fresh clouds of steam filled the small chamber. The plaster-coated walls of the sweating room located just off Gaius's private bath suite were covered with colorful paintings of marine life and dramatic episodes of Odysseus’s sea voyage. Rivulets of condensation slowly dripped down the frescoes, pooling along the edges of the mosaic floor.    
  
Undressed and face down on a firm couch, Gaius reached under his hips and readjusted his full, aching balls. Simon hoped that a good, hard fuck was next on the menu; at the moment, his master seemed satisfied with a long, soothing rub down after too many hours baking in the saddle. When Gaius lifted his head for a swallow of Spanish wine, Simon dribbled another splatter of warm, scented oil over his muscled back.  
  
On his knees, naked and soaked with sweat, Simon straddled his master’s thick thighs, expertly kneading away the stiffness that knotted Gaius’s back and shoulders. Despite his lithe and lightly muscled frame, Simon’s wide shoulders offered perfect leverage; with every push of his talented fingers and every firm press of his palms, he elicited a delightful chorus of muffled grunts and appreciative moans. Max had made sure that Simon was well trained in many arts long before he was old enough to be fucked. Massage had turned out to be one of his treasured skills; with each steady stroke, he felt his master's tension gradually melt away.   
  
“Dominus, may I ask a question?”   
  
“Mmm… yes, Simon.  What is it, love?”  
  
Simon hesitated before he spoke; this was potentially dangerous territory, especially for a slave, even if he was the master’s current darling.  He brushed away the honey brown curls sticking to his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and gathered his thoughts before asking the question that had been eating away at him ever since Nicomedes had stupidly earned Dom's wrath.  
  
“What will you do about Nic, Dominus?”  
  
“Why do you…? Wait, is there something wrong with him?” Gaius stiffened with worry. He abruptly raised himself up on his right forearm to look back over his shoulder at Simon.  
  
“No, he’s well. It’s just that… um… he’s been behaving much better, Dominus.”  
  
With a sigh of relief but clearly annoyed at the interruption, Gaius lowered his head back down on a richly colored pillow. Simon had an odd protective streak when it came to Nicomedes, despite the fact that Nic was older and more experienced—and much more of a shithead. He wondered when his master would realize that he’d also grown quite fond of the raven-haired Dacian.  
  
“Max’s letters have kept me updated on Nic’s behavior adjustment. So, you believe that our gorgeous blond has learned his lesson then, Simon?”  
  
“I think he has, Dominus.”  
  
“Did Nicomedes ask you to speak to me on his behalf?”  
  
“No, Dominus!”  Wide-eyed at his own audaciousness, Simon immediately shut his mouth and lowered his chin. He swallowed hard before speaking another word; the last thing he wanted to do was to get Nic in more trouble than he already was.   
  
“Then what's your concern, pup?”  
  
“Dominus, I… I think Nic’s frightened that you’ve lost interest in him. He thinks you’re going to sell him.”   
  
Gaius chuckled. “Good. Nicomedes should be fucking worried, though not because I intend to peddle him off on another owner. That damn cocky attitude of his needs some serious tempering, despite how often it amuses me.”  
  
“May I ask another question, Dominus?”  
  
“Chatty today, aren’t we, pet? There are much better uses for that lovely mouth of yours, you know.”  
  
Simon smiled lovingly at the mess of auburn locks spread over the blue pillow at the head of the couch. He cleared his throat, waiting for permission to ask another question.  
  
“Well, what is it then? Go on, boy.”  
  
“Did Nic make the right choice?”  
  
“Ah, yes… fuck, that feels bloody good.”  Gaius stretched his arms out as Simon rubbed and squeezed his taut, tensed biceps. “What choice, Simon? You mean the choice between prostituting for my profit at Siro's brothel or the chastity cage?  Yes, Nicomedes made the correct choice. He’s a sharp lad. You both are, pup.”  
  
“Thank you, Dominus.”    
  
Simon hopped off the couch, easily catching his balance before he slipped on the wet floor, and began massaging Gaius’s tight hamstrings and calves, paying special attention to the soles of his feet as well. His face broke into a bright, proud grin whenever his master groaned in relief. When the grunts and moans stopped, and Simon wondered if his handsome owner might have fallen asleep, Gaius asked a question.  
  
“Simon, what do you make of the Dacian?”  
  
“Paulus? He’s all right, I guess.  Keeps to himself much of the time.  I've been teaching him how to speak our language, Dominus. He's a good student... very bright, I think.”  
  
“Is he worth my fucking trouble?”  
  
Simon froze, both hands wrapped around his master’s right calf. More dangerous territory. He’d have to pick his words carefully.  
  
“He needs training, Dominus.  Given what happened to him, he’ll require some patience as well.”  
  
“Explain.”  
  
“Well, what I mean is… he’s not like me or Nic, Dominus.  Max told us that he was captured not that long ago. So, if he wasn’t born a slave, then he has no real understanding of… well, what he is now. He’s confused and scared, I think.”  
  
“Good boy, Simon.”  Gaius slowly rolled off the couch with a labored groan, and moved to stand behind him, whispering affectionately in his ear.   
  
“That was a difficult question, and you handled it well.”   
  
Gaius ran his right palm over the curve of Simon’s moist ass, pressing two knuckles lightly against the small of the boy’s back.  Simon's heart raced at the subtle but familiar signal. Seductively and without a word, the eighteen year old reclined forward over the couch, stretching his hairless arms forward and curling his fingers over edge of the sturdy piece of furniture.  Without another prompt, he spread his legs wide apart, arched his back and offered up his round bum.  
  
“Such a good slut.”  Gaius cooed, tenderly stroking Simon’s sensitive underside. Suddenly, he turned toward the door and shouted.   
  
“Water!”  
  
A flutter of footsteps, and then slurping sounds, and then two thick oiled fingers pushed hard into Simon’s bum. Simon gasped and moaned at the slick, burning pleasure; no one had fucked him since his master had left for Rome. Dom had given him a dildo toy and he could finger himself if need be, but that wasn’t anything like this.  Simon needed to be filled by his master’s demanding cock, he craved to be completely owned by Dom's lust.   
  
More thirsty gulping, as Gaius’s fingers twisted and scissored and opened him. Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw the old slave hold up the silver cup of water, his blank expression showing no sign that he noticed or cared that Dom’s hand was fucking Simon’s exposed pink hole.   
  
After a few more moments of drinking and fingering, Gaius snapped, “Leave.”  
  
Before the hapless servant had a chance to get out of the sweating room, Gaius impaled Simon in one forceful, hard thrust. Simon cried out and whimpered into the thin fabric of the couch, squirming and pushing back for more.   
  
Gaius leaned down and mumbled against Simon’s damp skin. “You’ve missed me, haven’t you?”  
  
“Very much, Dominus.”  Simon groaned with a smile into the cloth. His slender legs started to shake as Gaius pounded into him faster, slapping his bum red and stinging warm. Gaius pulled nearly all the way out and, with half-open eyes, watched his engorged shaft slowly drive back into Simon’s greased hole.   
  
“Shit, I’ve missed your sweet arse, pup.” Gaius slid his arm between the couch and Simon’s stomach and lifted the boy up, setting him back down on the cushion on his knees, all the while his cock buried deep inside Simon’s tight body. He pulled the boy’s torso back against his broad chest and firmly stroked his pet's dripping prick. “When I give you permission, come for me. All over the couch, dove. Understand?”  
  
With his eyes closed and both hands clinging to Gaius’s arms, Simon grinned and nodded.  
  
Gaius grabbed him by the jaw, his fingers digging into Simon's cheeks, and snarled into the boy's damp curls. “That was a fucking question.”  
  
“Yes, Domi...” Before the last syllable was out, Gaius pushed three fingers into Simon’s open mouth.  
  
“Now there’s my obedient, beautiful Simon. Suck… that’s right, make some sweet noise for me. I'm going to fuck all that delicious come right out of your pretty little balls. You’ll be crawling on your hands and knees back to the stable house when I’m done pummeling your gorgeous arse. Would you like that, pup?”  
  
As three thick fingers slid back and forth across his wet tongue, Simon laughed around their slippery girth. “Yes, Dominus. Very much.”

  



	12. Chapter 12

  
                                                                          

  
  
  
**AD 107  
Bay of Naples, Gaius Fabius's seaside villa**  
  
When Allerix regained consciousness, every muscle and every fiber ached from strain and fatigue. His long arms were stretched taut, his shoulders pressed against the sides of his head. With each thumping beat of his heart, a painful lump at the back of his head pulsed.   
  
He opened his heavy-lidded eyes; his vision gradually adjusted to the low light. Several feet in front of him was a fuzzy, large rectangular shape—probably a bed. There were smaller silhouettes in the large space, furniture of some sort or other. But no lamps lit, no windows open, only a few faint streaks of orange light seeping in through the narrow crevices between the closed shutters.   
  
How long had he been here, wherever here was?  
  
Alle looked up at the black-brown leather cuffs ensnaring his wrists. He pulled and jerked against the straps, but the restraints were tight and sturdy.   
  
He was trapped, vulnerable to whatever happened next.   
  
It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps nothing would happen. Perhaps the monster would leave him here, a helpless calf strung up at market, until he died from thirst. He licked his chapped, cracked lips and tasted a faint metallic flavor.   
  
To die from thirst would be slow. Perhaps the Roman would be merciful and return with a sacrificial knife—slice open his abdomen and pull out his bloodied liver. Would his eviscerated guts reveal a favorable omen, a divine sign from their sadistic gods?  
  
Shit, he was going mad.  
  
Alle looked down at his bare feet, bound together at the ankles, and wiggled his toes. He’d been wearing a pair of flimsy sandals when he’d dashed across the yard to follow Max and Simon into the main house. Those shoes were gone. He closed his eyes and thought back to his tenth birthday, when young Allerix, second son of King Thiamarkos, received his first pair of hunting boots. He could still see his father’s beaming smile as he tied the final knot of the thick leather straps with a proud harrumph.   
  
There was nothing left now, was there? No mines of gold, no stockpiles of weaponry, no future, no honor—nothing, except a few useless baubles packed in crates by the surviving elders in the days before their frantic escape to the mountains. Allerix's city, his home, and his past—everything was gone, destroyed forever by those ruthless savages.  
  
At least he would die clothed. Fuck, he despised this shapeless slave costume from that very first day Max had pulled the scratchy fabric over his head. His favorite woolen shirt and his long trousers had been left behind in the field where those soldiers had taken him. Taken Gorgas. Alle tried to shake the memory of that brutal day out of his aching skull, but all he could see was the anguish in Gorgas’s tear-filled eyes, pleading for help through the blades of grass.  
  
Shit, his head hurt.   
  
He temporarily lost his balance as the room began to spin. He leaned to the right, pulling against the bite of the bindings. Dizzy and disoriented, he watched dumbstruck as a vision of Tarbus’s ruddy, tattooed face materialized like a cloud of smoke. The hallucination of his half-brother floated in the dim air, rolling a section of his long, full beard between two fingers and laughing in that abrasive, mocking tone of his.   
  
 _“Well, well—look at this. Shackled to the ceiling like a holiday hog, little brother?_   _Quite fitting, really—considering how you disgraced our father and offended the gods, you filthy cocksucking deviant.”_  
  
Alle snarled and spat back. “I never once disgraced the king. Only you and your gang of feeble lackeys found offense, dear brother.”   
  
The apparition of Tarbus faded as quickly as it had appeared. Goose bumps broke out over Alle’s thighs; he shivered as the forest of black hairs on his legs stood on end. With the short tunic hiked up over his narrow hips, the humid air tickled his bare arse and danced across the sensitive skin of his dangling sac.  
  
Alle licked his dry lips again and shouted into the shadow-filled space.  
  
“Kill me, you Roman cunt!”    
  
The words ricocheted off the walls and reverberated throughout the dark room.  
  
And then, nothing…   
  
Just silence, save for the sound of his own heavy breathing.  
  
His head dropped forward between his shoulders, as he prayed. “Oh great Zalmoxis, protector of all that is true and just, take pity on your reckless, foolish child and guide me to my next life.”  
  
And still, there was nothing. Only silence.   
  
Allerix, son of Thiamarkos, had been forsaken.  
  
~~~~~  
  
“Greetings, lads!”  Simon yelled, as he skipped cheerfully into the main gathering room of the stable house. His brunet curls flopped about in every direction and a satisfied shit-eating grin was plastered across his beautiful face. It was late in the day; the stone hall was ablaze in hues of red and gold from the waning sunlight, the air hazy from the lingering smoke of the cooking fire in the nearby kitchen. Simon sniffed the air and caught a tantalizing whiff of the afternoon meal that he’d missed: roasted pork, greens with fennel and fresh bread.   
  
Wired and fidgety, Simon plopped his well-fucked bum into a chair. Seated next to him on a low cushioned stool, Max rested his head in his folded arms on the table as he shifted his flogged, aching body back and forth. When Simon reached for a piece of fruit from the red ceramic bowl filled with treats from the orchard, Nic smacked his hand, hard.  
  
“We need to address Max by his proper title all of the time now. Dom's home. No more fucking sloppy mistakes, got it?”  
  
Simon jerked his hand back and groaned at the stinging pain. He looked in disbelief across the table. Nic scraped off the last bits of food from his plate, eyes cast down, his face hidden behind his shoulder-length hair.  
  
“What Paulus did is not my fault, Nic. He could have killed me!”  
  
“But he didn't.  Pity, isn’t it?”  
  
Chewing the last morsel slowly, Nic pushed back from the heavy oak table and crossed his bronzed, athletic arms.  
  
“How is Dom, then?” Nicomedes’ normally deep and lush voice was weak and unsure.  
  
“He’s well.  Tired from his travels, but well.  Do you think there’s anything left for me to eat? I’m famished.”  
  
Nic picked a piece of ripe fruit out of the bowl and took a bite. “I would have thought your little belly was chock full of Dom’s seed, twat.”   
  
Peering out from beneath his long curls, Simon smirked.  
  
“Nah, Dom didn’t want my mouth. Mine’s too small and nowhere near as talented as your golden gob. Isn’t that what you always say? That you’re Dom’s favorite cock sucker.” Simon winked playfully, and then ducked to avoid being clocked in the head by Nic’s partially eaten apricot.   
  
Max lifted his head and growled. “Fucking stop it, both of you. Should I send for Varius? I'm sure he has plenty of strength left to whip both your hides.”   
  
Before either pleasure slave could protest, Plautus waddled into the room, grumbling and carrying a plate of steaming food. The rotund cook dropped the generous meal down on the table in front of Simon with a rude thud, shot Nic an annoyed glare, and left to mind the kitchen without saying a word to anyone.    
  
“Friendly fellow, that Plautus.” Simon mumbled, as he tore off pieces of crusty, warm bread to soak up some spicy sauce, stuffing his face with mouthfuls of food. “Shit, I forgot… how hungry I get… after Dom fucks me.”  
  
“Slow down, Simon.  You’ll choke... argh, shit!” Max gasped and winced.   
  
“Sir, are you all right?”  
  
Max waved Simon off and groaned across the table.  “Nic, love—I need more of that salve.”   
  
Nic jumped up and grabbed a wad of boiled wool and the bottle of ointment out of a shallow tray resting on the side table.   
  
“May I lift your tunic, sir?”  
  
Max grunted as he nodded.  
  
With nimble fingers, Nic delicately dabbed the herb-infused cream on the raw stripes that reddened Max’s ebony skin.  “There, that should help. Is it better?”  
  
“Much better. Thank you, darling.”   
  
Nic kissed the back of Max’s thick neck. “You’ll heal quickly, sir. Looks like Varius delivered a lighter hand than usual.”  
  
“I suppose so. Dom must have signaled for Varius to go easier on me. Why? I have no fucking idea.”   
  
“He loves you. Besides, you couldn’t have predicted that Paulus would pull a dangerous stunt like that, sir. No one could.”  
  
“I bloody well should have, Nicomedes. I suspect that I’ll be paying for that major cock up for some time.” Max cleared his throat.  “Simon, did the commander give you any instructions before he sent you back here?”    
  
Resting his hands lightly on Max’s broad shoulders, Nic cocked his head and listened closely.  
  
“He told me to eat better and get more sleep.  Dom was pissed off that I’m skinnier and pasty.”  
  
“Shit.” Max dropped his head in his cupped hands and grumbled. “Was that all he said?”   
  
“Um, I think so, sir. Yeah.”  Simon grabbed his cup and closed his green eyes, gulping back a long drink of water.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Yes, Nicomedes?”  
  
Nic leaned down and spoke softly into Max’s ear. “Do you have a task for me, or do I have your permission to return to my room?”  
  
Nic’s voice was shaky. The cage punishment had broken him. Dom was finally home, but there hadn't been the usual immediate demand for Nic’s mouth—no sign at all that the blond been forgiven.   
  
Max turned around and prodded gently. “Are you all right, lamb?”   
  
While Simon noisily munched down his plate of food, Nic’s heart cracked from the overwhelming weight of abandonment. There was no fucking choice. There never had been. If Dom no longer wanted him, Nic was gone.   
  
“Dom’s lost interest in me, hasn’t he?”  Nic whispered even softer, as he gnawed on his thumbnail. “S’all right, though. I’ll serve another master, like before.”   
  
Nic pulled his thumb away and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to maintain his composure. His days at the villa were over. He'd miss Max, and he’d even miss the perky, clueless twat gorging himself sick.  But he’d miss Dom most of all. He’d miss Gaius.   
  
Max rubbed his faced with a sigh. “There’s nothing else, Nicomedes.  You may retire to your cell.”  
  
Simon suddenly piped up. “Oh, there  _was_  something...”  
  
Welling up with tears, Nic’s eyes opened wide at the twinkle in Simon’s mischievous voice. Simon put his cup down slowly and, with an impish grin on his face, looked straight into Nic’s bright blue eyes.  
  
“Dom said to tell you, Nicomedes, to get all cleaned up and hightail your pretty arse to the playroom before it gets dark.”   
  
Simon covered his mouth with his hand and crumpled against Max’s shoulder in a fit of giggles fueled by his buggered-arse euphoria.  He rarely pulled a prank on Nic and when he did, it almost never worked.   
  
Nic grabbed Max’s shoulders for support as he collapsed with relief. Once his legs stopped trembling, he reached over and thwacked Simon’s ear with a loud pop.   
  
“You little prick!”  
  
Grabbing Simon by a fistful of curls, Nic pulled him up out of his seat and latched onto the boy’s soft mouth, drowning him in a harsh, punishing kiss. He wanted to punch Simon in the face, but Nic couldn’t afford another screw up. When Simon started to struggle to breathe, Nic dropped the stunned rascal unceremoniously back into his chair and sauntered off to wash up, cheering with obscene hand gestures.  
  
Simon coughed and wheezed, before finally blurting out. “Max! He can’t... Nic’s not allowed to do that to me! Sir.”  
  
“You deserved much worse, Simon. I would have strangled you.” Max smirked and winked. “And don’t fucking whine, twat. It’s not attractive.”  
  
~~~~~~  
  
The echo of steady footsteps filled the space behind him.    
  
Alle cautiously opened his eyes. At first he didn’t move in a pathetic attempt to feign sleep, but temptation and his military training defeated that cowardly strategy. Allerix tried to bend and turn his gaze, when a hand grabbed his hair by the roots and held his head firmly in place.  
  
“Keep your eyes forward, Dacian, or I will snap your fucking neck.”  
  
The low, silky warning that caressed Alle’s left ear was calm but lethal.   
  
It was that unforgettable hypnotic voice from the arduous trip down to the villa. Alle had been bound and blindfolded for the entire journey, but for a short stage of that uncomfortable, bumpy ride on the hard floor of the wagon, that same haunting voice washed over his sweaty face.  
  
 _“You’re safe now, pet. We’ve left Rome.”_  
  
 _“You are mine, to protect and cherish and defile. Mine alone.”_  
  
A servant held up a small bronze lamp. Gaius adjusted his grip and tightened his fist, as he angled Alle’s head back. Allerix cried out in pain; Gaius ran his knuckles over the slave's scalp and felt a tender lump on the back of his head. Maximus must have delivered a solid blow after the Dacian recovered from the choking. Or perhaps he'd simply dropped him. Either scenario was possible; he'd question Max about it later.  
  
Gaius narrowed his eyes and studied the contours of the Dacian’s profile: long dark lashes; a slightly curved, small nose; luscious, full lips; that round chin and those gracefully arched eyebrows, drawn down in agony. He loosened his hold until the Dacian's pained expression softened.   
  
As lamplight flickered across the walls, Gaius brushed his other hand over the black scruff of the slave’s short, soft beard. Shit, the lad was even more attractive than he’d remembered. Once the mongrel was rid of his thick cover of whiskers, his face would be absolutely exquisite.  This new plaything might actually be worth every bit of silver spent at Decius’s private auction.  
  
“Put the lamp on the table by the bed.” Gaius barked.  
  
A rogue reddish curl of hair bounced into Alle’s view and then quickly disappeared. He’d never seen the face of the fucking bastard—he’d only heard that velvety voice and felt those strong, calloused hands. Late one restless night at the stable house, Simon had described with blatant delight the details of his master’s appearance, but Allerix needed to see the prick with his own eyes.  His ignorance about something so basic, so necessary, was driving him mad.  
  
The faceless servant carried the lamp over to the right corner of the room, lighting up the space. Alle sighed. He’d been right—it was a bedroom.  
  
Alle blinked and his eyes widened. It was the playroom.  
  
With one hand still gripping Alle firmly by the hair, Gaius drew his weapon and held the shiny blade high enough for the reality of the dagger to be crystal clear.   
  
“I see you like to play with knives, cub. So do I. Perhaps we'll play together some time.” Alle could hear the monster’s smile.  
  
Light from the flame danced off the polished steel, casting random patterns of pale reflections over the painted walls. After catching his breath, Alle opened his mouth to speak. The sharp metal point pricked the tender skin on the underside of his hairy chin.  Alle flinched, as small drops of warm blood trickled down his pale neck.  
  
“Rule number one, Dacian.  Do not speak unless I ask a direct question. Simple enough, right?”  
  
Alle swallowed and said nothing.  
  
“That was a fucking direct question. Do you understand rule number one?”  
  
Alle stammered, fumbling his words. “I speak not your tongue.”   
  
“I see. My tongue, did you say?” Shaking his head, Gaius chuckled and lowered his voice. “Let us hope for the sake of those lovely barbarian balls of yours that you’re a quick study, cub.”  
  
He pressed the cool flat of the steel blade against Allerix’s thigh, a mere hand’s width below his exposed groin.  
  
“Do you understand rule number one,  _prințișor_?”  
  
Alle closed his eyes and swallowed again. The ruse was over.  
  
“Yes. I understand.”  
  
“Excellent. I don’t fuck eunuchs.” Gaius leaned in close and whispered, “But perhaps I'm being selfish—terrible habit of mine. Would you prefer a quick castration, Dacian?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Let’s try that again, shall we?”  Gaius grazed the edge of the dagger blade across Alle’s wrinkled sac.   
  
“No, Dominus.”  Alle conceded through clenched teeth, and Gaius’s scowl melted into a dimpled smile. What a bloody lovely voice for a vulgar barbarian.  
  
After sheathing his dagger, Gaius pulled out a strip of black cloth. He released his hold on Alle’s thick hair, long enough to quickly tie the rag securely over those big, dark eyes.  
  
Everything went black.  
  
A soft shuffling sound came from the direction of the doorway behind them.  
  
“Dominus, you sent for me?”  
  
“Nicomedes, you gorgeous scamp. Strip and get on the bed. You and I need to have a word, don’t we?”  
  
Nic quickly unbuckled his leather belt and pulled his tunic up over his head with the grace of a dancer. He reclined, face up, atop the mattress, folding his arms under his head and spreading his knees wide apart. Gaius spied the magnificent bronze device that Nic had endured for three long months.  
  
With a firm farewell pat to the Dacian’s bare bum, Gaius strolled over to the foot of the bed. The polished surfaces of the mesh cock cage ensnaring Nic’s groin shimmered in the flickering light of the oil lamp. The metal casing, a deceptively simple design of overlapping, tight-fighting bronze bands linked together by one sturdy, curved rod, was remarkably well crafted and strangely beautiful, like a fine piece of precious latticed jewelry. Another visit to that talented bronzesmith’s shop back at the capital was in order.  
  
Gaius licked his lips at the vision of his blond slut’s prick wrapped in those wicked, shiny bronze bangles. He reached down and grabbed Nic by both ankles, and dragged him towards the foot of the bed.  
  
“Max reports you’ve been on your best behavior, pet. So, why on earth did I lock your sweet jewels in that cock cage? Remind me.”  
  
“Dominus…” Nic’s sultry baritone voice cracked from nerves as he blurted out his offense. “I earned my punishment for fucking Zoe… outside of your presence and without your permission, Dominus.” He quickly added.  
  
“I’m curious, Nicomedes. Did you think the punishment was too harsh? Have I been cruel?”  
  
“No, Dominus. I should have been castrated for my inexcusable crime.”  
  
“Castrated?” Gaius smirked and scraped his teeth across his lower lip. “I should have killed you, lamb—or sold your whoring arse to the fucking mines.”  Gaius looked away and exhaled, before looking back into Nic’s desperate, glassy blue eyes. “I’m far too soft when it comes to you. You do know that?”  
  
“Yes, Dominus.” Nic willed himself to not weep, even though the tears were dangerously close to the surface. With his hands still wrapped tightly around Nic’s raised ankles, Gaius felt the boy’s legs trembling from fear, he guessed. And from genuine regret, Gaius hoped.  
  
“I should have killed you, Nicomedes.  Do you understand me?”   
  
Nic gulped down the lump in his throat. “Yes, Dominus.”  
  
“You remember where I store the key? Get up and fetch it now.”  
  
After Gaius released his ankles with a thump, Nic hurried over to the vaulted alcove where the bronze storage chest was stored and lifted the lid.  His eyes wandered over the impressive, carefully arranged collection of dildos, plugs, rings and restraints. Finally, he spied the brown woven bag and dug out the small key that had tangled itself in the dark threads at the bottom. Returning to Gaius’s side, Nic collapsed to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor. He raised his left arm, the metal key to the cage lock cradled in his palm like a sacred offering.  
  
After he sat down on the side of the mattress, Gaius plucked the small piece of iron from Nic’s hand.   
  
“Over my lap, on your back. As exquisite as it looks on you, dove, it's time to remove that chastity apparatus.”     
  
Shaking with joy, Nic rose and arched his long back over Gaius's thighs. He focused his sapphire eyes on the shadowy image of Alle’s bound feet a short distance away. After Gaius unlocked the cage with a sharp click, he slipped off the two heavy scrotum rings and placed them on the table.  He carefully pulled off the linked metal bands, and inspected Nic’s flaccid prick. His pet’s shaft was marked with indentations, scrapes and slight bruises, but otherwise only superficially disfigured. Nicomedes’s young equipment would recover quickly.    
  
“When was the last time you had a pleasurable release, pet?” Gaius asked gently, knowing full well the answer, while he reached over and dipped his left hand in the glazed jar of oil on the table by the lamp. Drops of the slippery liquid splattered across Nic’s legs.  
  
“Not since I was caged, Dominus—two months ago.”  With his sandy-flaxen hair pooled on the floor around his head, Nic groaned in bliss when Gaius’s right hand wrapped around the base of his cock and began stroking him—gently at first and then more firmly.  
  
“Maximus milked you regularly, correct?” Gaius’ breaths were controlled, his eyes fixed not on Nic, but on the Dacian’s luscious, ruby mouth. The bearded beauty was panting, heavily—a promising sign.  
  
“Yes, Dominus.” Nic squeezed his eyes tight as he recalled the humiliation of Max bending him over a wooden rack in a dusty stall in the stables, and pushing his greased hand up his hole to force Nic’s semen to dribble out from the opening at the tip of the cage.   
  
Gaius kept stroking Nic’s hardening shaft. “That must have been unpleasant for you, and for Maximus. There’s no pain now, is there?”  
  
“No, Dom…” With a gasp, Nic’s breath caught in his throat, as two oiled fingers penetrated him, and pushed deeper and deeper until they were caressing his swollen prostate.   
  
“You are so bloody beautiful under my hands, lamb—glistening with sweat and writhing with lust. Responding so sweetly to my touch.”  
  
Nic’s release took a while; his neglected body had to catch up with months of suppressed desire. Gaius was patient and steady, pumping Nic’s engorged prick with one hand, rubbing firm against his sensitive bumpy nub with the other.   
  
“Come for your merciful master.” Gaius leaned down and flicked his skilled tongue across Nic’s wet slit. “Let it go—now.”  
  
With his back arched and his balls pulled up tight in anticipation, Nicomedes babbled incoherent nonsense until he went rigid and he cried out. Thick ribbons of semen shot out, splashing over his fluttering abdomen, dripping down his muscular chest. A smattering of milky cream landed on his face, pale liquid beads gracing his sculpted cheeks and chin and lips.   
  
Gaius growled softly. “So very fucking beautiful.”  
  
Nic’s ecstatic moans gave way to heaving sobs, as he buried his sweat-drenched, come-covered face in both hands. Gaius slipped his forearm underneath Nic’s back and pulled the blond up to a seated position. After a deep, slow tongue fuck, Gaius stopped to comb out Nic’s matted wet hair with his fingers.   
  
“I’ve missed you, Nicomedes. It was torture forcing myself to ignore you. Make sure that I never need to cage you again, pet. Understood?”  
  
Humming and giggling, Nic nodded, shut his eyes and leaned against Gaius’s shoulder, while Gaius traced lazy circles in the pearly puddles on Nic’s hairless chest. He picked the slave up in his arms and gently placed his slack, shivering body on the soft mattress.  
  
“All is well. I’m home now.” Gaius pressed a loving peck to Nic’s soaked temple. “But mind my words. I will not forgive you a second time.”  
  
Gaius pressed the tip of his finger against Nic's full lower lip, and slowly pushed himself off the bed. Allerix froze at the eerie silence that flooded the room.  
  
After he strolled over to his shackled new toy, Gaius glanced at Alle's bobbing, half-hard prick, and smiled. "It pleases me that you enjoyed that, cub. Tell me, should I forgive your idiocy?" He cupped Alle's furry chin in his palm. "Will I ever have reason to trust you, Dacian?"

~~~~~

 


	13. Chapter 13

                                                                     

 

 

**AD 107  
Bay of Naples, Gaius Fabius's seaside villa**

 

His freckled skin was flushed warm and his cock throbbed with arousal. Without saying another word, Gaius just stood there, studying his raven-haired purchase shackled to the ceiling in his playroom. The blindfolded Dacian inhaled and exhaled through parted lips. After every third or fourth rapid breath, his luscious mouth, framed by that black scruffy beard, quivered. Gaius stepped closer and reached his right hand around Allerix's slender waist, running his palm over the curve of his bare arse, fingering his way up the cleft between the boy’s damp, tensed cheeks. 

The barbarian swallowed, but made no sound. 

After slowly removing his hand from the moist crack, Gaius brushed his knuckles under Alle's slave tunic and down the smooth skin of his stomach, tracing the line of soft black hair that traveled from his navel to his groin. Just before he touched Alle’s half-hard cock, he pulled his hand off and firmly cupped Alle’s supple sac with his other palm. His new toy gasped softly, but didn’t move a muscle.

“I paid that sniveling Egyptian dealer a foolish amount of silver for an unsullied virgin arse. Are you a virgin,  _căţel_?” Gaius’s tone dripped with amusement.

“You wasted your coin,  _ucigaş_.” Alle spat back with a sneer, his teeth clenched in terrified rage. Sprawled out on the mattress, Nic instinctively flinched as if he were the one about to be hit. But Gaius didn’t backhand the arrogant beast across the face; he chuckled and leaned in closer.

“Trust me. I’ll recover my investment tenfold, one way or another.”  Gaius tightened his grip on Alle’s balls as the words rolled off his sharp tongue like thick syrup. “Now open your mouth for your butcher of a master.” 

Gaius traced a calloused fingertip over the full mounds of Alle’s lips, before he slipped two thick fingers, still a tad sticky with Nic’s salty release, into the Dacian’s snarling mouth. When he felt the cub’s teeth graze his skin, he squeezed Alle’s balls hard and warned. “Do not fucking bite me. Open wider.” 

Alle pursed and then separated his lips; Gaius pushed his fingers until they bumped against the back of Alle’s throat. 

“Suck my fingers clean, cub. Show me what you can do, besides cocking up a simple escape.”  

As tears rolled down his cheeks from beneath the lower edge of the blindfold, Alle tried to force the fingers out of his mouth with his tongue, but he wound up only drooling and gagging louder when Gaius pressed in even farther. Defeated, Alle drew in a deep breath through his nostrils and surrendered; his whiskered jaw slackened and relaxed as he hugged the girth of Gaius’s probing fingers. 

“There’s a good, obedient slave.  You have potential, my dear new bauble.”  Gaius pulled his hand out, and gently wiped off Alle’s tear-streaked cheeks with the side of his thumb.

“Atticus!” 

The playroom door opened with a slight squeak of the metal hinges.

"Yes, Dominus?" 

“Send for Maximus.  Tell him to bring the razors. It’s time to barber this wooly creature.”  Gaius dropped his voice, as he stroked the back of his hand over Alle’s beard. “So bloody soft. I imagine these whiskers would feel exquisite wrapped around my prick. It’ll be a shame to see them go, but I need to see your entire face, Dacian.”

Gaius brushed his lips against Alle’s tender ear shell. “Do you know how this feels—this moment right now? It’s that same thrilling tingle of expectation that buzzes through a child right before he unwraps a precious gift on the Saturnalia.”

Gaius stepped back and crossed his arms; the shackled Dacian licked his lips as he swayed back and forth blindly. The heavy quiet of anticipation was interrupted by a series of rapid knocks on the door. 

“Enter.”

The door swung open. “Commander…”

“That was bloody quick. Did you race a rabbit here from the stable house, Maximus?”

“I marched as fast as possible, sir. Apologies for my tardiness.” Max garbled out between panting breaths.

Gaius rolled his eyes as he uncrossed his arms and nodded towards Allerix. "Shave off his beard—but do it slowly." 

Max hesitated for a moment before grabbing Alle’s face with his left hand. He lifted one of the sharpened iron knives from a leather pouch attached to his belt, stretched Alle’s skin taut, and began shearing off the thick bristles. Back and forth, up and down. No oil, no lubricant of any sort to safeguard Alle’s skin from the searing burn of the scraper. Max's hand shook; shit, he'd miss the feathery touch of that glorious facial fur. The blade snagged on Alle's skin and nicked his jaw and neck; tiny drops of blood bubbled up from the cuts.

“Nicomedes!”

Naked and spent, Nic sprang off the bed and knelt at his master’s feet, his perfect nose pressed against the grey stone floor.

“Taste my new dark-haired cherry.”

Without hesitation, Nic rose up on his knees and took Alle’s prick down his throat in one, smooth swallow, sucking and slurping feverishly. With his eyes fixed on the Dacian’s face, Gaius absent-mindedly tangled his fingers in Nic’s damp, wavy hair as the blond bobbed up and down, engulfing and undoing Alle with each slobbery stroke.  

Scrape after scratchy scrape, Max’s razor revealed the pale glow of flushed skin as Alle winced behind the blindfold, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Shorn ebony hairs littered the floor, some stray bits fluttering down to land on Nic’s blond mane. Languidly following the gentle slope of Alle’s flawless nose with his finger, Gaius growled. 

“Sing for me. I want to hear you enjoy Nic's talented mouth, savage.”

Another stinging rake of the honed razor across Alle's cheek, another wet stroke of Nic’s exquisite tongue along the pulse of his vein.

Trying to keep his head still against the pressure of Max’s shaky grip and the iron blade, Allerix fought the urge as long as he could until a low, raspy whimper forced itself out from between his vibrating lips.

"Fucking beautiful."  Gaius exhaled.

With a last flick of the cutter, Max stepped back, returned the razor to the pouch and cast his gaze to the floor, both hands quickly crossed behind his back. 

Gaius sighed. “So you enjoy pleasure with the bite of discomfort,  _căţel_. That’s delightfully fortunate.”

Alle sputtered and buckled against the restraints in vain, desperate for release. Nic’s mouth was so talented, and he was so close. Alle could feel the fullness of the warm surge rising up the length of his shaft.

“Stop.”

Nic pulled his mouth off, wiped his spit-covered chin with the back of his hand, and resumed his kneeling position on the floor by Gaius’s feet.  As Alle’s discarded cock jerked and dripped, an anguished cry of frustration and torment spilled out of his mouth.  Gaius grabbed him by the hair, and was immediately reminded of that lump on the back of the Dacian’s skull.

“Listen to me, Dacian. You’ll fucking earn any crumb of pleasure that I might give you.” Gaius drew his hand back and smacked Alle’s dangling balls with his half-closed fist. “Never lay a hand—or a blunt kitchen knife—on my whores without  _my_   _fucking permission_!”  

Breathing heavily, Gaius dragged his hands through his curls. He reached down and cupped Nic’s face, along with a few of his wavy golden locks, between both of his palms. “Nicomedes, my lamb.”

He lifted him up and kissed Nic passionately on the mouth before releasing him, breathless. 

“Get dressed. Those bright blue eyes of yours will light up the foot of my dining couch. You and I will return here for dessert, so don’t waste my time gathering up your sandals.” 

After the sounds of footsteps faded away, through the walls Alle heard the Roman bark more orders.

_“You, Maximus—not Varius—will deliver twelve lashes to his back. You miscalculated, so you administer the beating. Apply the cane carefully, and soothe his wounds with ointment. No permanent scars—no lasting damage—or I’ll flog you myself. Is that clear?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

Shit. Alle had wondered not if, but when, he’d be beaten. The reality of an imminent thrashing was strangely comforting.

_“Then strip and bind him to the column rack by the balcony. I’m not finished with that beautiful son of a bitch.”_

As Alle fought back another surge of tears, his arms and shoulders strained against the shackles, his tormented balls aching with stabbing pain.

_“Yes, sir.”_

Blinded by the dark cloth wrapped around his head, Allerix gnawed on his chapped lower lip as shreds of his shorn noble beard lodged themselves in the spaces between his bare, sweaty toes. He lost his last scrap of self-control and wept, beseeching his impotent gods for an end to this nightmare.

~~~~~~

As he reluctantly emerged from a deep blissful sleep, Gaius stretched his arms above his head and growled with satisfaction. That was the best rest he’d enjoyed in fucking weeks. He slid his hand under the covers to investigate the warm head resting on his stomach, blowing ticklish breaths against his skin. The sensuous feel of that thick silky hair—yes, his gorgeous, naughty Nicomedes. 

Shit, it was good to be home.

Last night, after they’d returned to the playroom, Gaius fucked Nicomedes’ lithe body, over and over—first draped across the edge of the bed, then face down on the mattress, then on his back with his knees drawn up his shoulders. Gaius loved to watch Nic’s blue eyes roll back as the lad emptied his balls. As ordered, Nic was extra loud, begging and moaning his throat raw with every brutal thrust. After months in the chastity cage, Nicomedes craved his touch, needed his attention. No doubt he realized that the noisy performance was for the benefit of the Dacian. Nic was never the half-wit he’d once pretended to be.

Yes, the Dacian was the new shiny thing; a pristine trophy to be played with until the temporary shine wore off. Within a few moons, perhaps less, the beautiful cub would be just another fuck toy waiting impatiently for his turn in Gaius’s bed.

Gaius lifted up the thin sheet and snaked his fingers through his pet’s flaxen waves, as Nic opened his lazy feline eyes and smiled, humming against his master’s firm abdomen muscles.

“Good morning, Nicomedes.”

“Morning, Dominus.”

“Come here,” Gaius said softly, tugging Nic up by his hair. After a lingering kiss, Gaius whispered, “I let you spend the night with me because I bloody adore your arse, lamb. Don’t misbehave again, understand?”

“Yes, Dominus.” Nic’s smile melted into a shy grin. He batted his long, dark blond lashes, basking in Gaius’s blatant affection. “Thank you, Dominus.”

Gaius chuckled as he pushed against Nic's lower lip with his thumb. “Go back to the stable house and enjoy a hearty morning meal. And tell Max to report here immediately.” 

After one more gentle peck on the mouth, Nic was gone.

The Dacian.

Bright light streamed in from the terrace. Passed out on his feet and bound to the rightmost post of the colonnade, Allerix was backlit like some mystical vision—his head and shoulders slumped forward, his dark hair obscuring his blindfolded face. With his wrists and ankles tied to hooks attached to the back of the sturdy column, the cub stood in a half-squat position. His bare soles were soaking in a puddle of his own piss. He’d been flogged as directed, but Gaius hadn’t inspected Max’s work. Nic’s tight rump had been too distracting a temptation.

Gaius threw back the rest of the bed covers and pushed himself up off the mattress, not bothering to dress.  This year’s summer mornings were unusually warm; no doubt the afternoon would be scorching. In no rush, Gaius circled around the column, admiring Alle’s nude body. He didn’t want to wake him—not just yet—so he resisted the urge to touch and instead allowed his eyes to caress every supple curve and sinuous line. 

He moved closer to judge the condition of the Dacian’s lacerated back. There they were—twelve distinct reddish-purple stripes. Not deep, but not too shallow either.  Perfect technique, just as Gaius had ordered. The healing salve had reduced the swelling nicely; no scars would mar his new prize. 

As Gaius had intended, the Dacian enjoyed little relief while bound upright to the stone column. When Alle pressed his back against the cool surface of the marble, the pressure aggravated his tender whipped skin. And if he leaned forward, away from the column, the strain on his tired leg muscles was excruciating.  So Allerix oscillated blindly throughout the night, leaning forward and then back, all the while listening to Gaius pummel his noisy Greek slut mercilessly. 

“So, our fierce Dacian warrior finally surrendered to exhaustion.” Gaius whispered. “You need more stamina, cub. We haven’t even begun to play.”

Standing at attention over in the shadows of the doorway, Max coughed. Gaius looked over and nodded, picked up his discarded tunic and pulled it over his tan naked body. Guiding Max by the elbow, he led his slave handler out into the hallway.

“Excellent touch of the cane, Maximus. Tell me, how did he react?”

“Admirably stoic but inexperienced. I don't think he's ever been caned before, sir.”

“A coddled barbarian cub, then. All right—let’s get him back to the stables to be washed and fed. There will be new conditions. He’s to be shackled at the ankles at all times, and no clothing while he’s confined to the stable house. That privilege is revoked for the time being. And be mindful, Maximus.  He certainly understands what we're saying much more than he let’s on—and he probably speaks some Greek as well if my suspicions are correct. Do not underestimate him again.”

“Understood, commander.”

“Maximus, I'm curious about something. How did the Dacian acquire that bump on the back of his head?”

“Um, I dropped him while he struggled during the initial binding, sir. I’m afraid that he slipped and hit his head on the floor.”

“Not unexpected, given the circumstances.”

“And... well, sir… I might have hit him. With my fist, sir.”

Gaius arched an eyebrow and smirked. “A blow to succor your injured pride, was it?”

“Yes, commander. I suppose it was.”

Gaius shook his head and laughed. “I’m confident that both your pride and your flogged backside will recover fully. Tell me about his cock sucking. You’ve been training him?”

“His skills were already exceptional. The Dacian required little instruction, sir.”

“Hmm… then there’s no need for more fellatio lessons. That should eliminate any further distractions and keep you focused on your primary responsibilities.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Let’s take him down. I’m fucking hungry and I need a bath.”

Gaius and Max returned to the playroom and stood on either side of the sleeping beaten boy strapped to the marble post. As Max reached behind and quietly unfastened the shackles that bound Alle’s wrists to the iron ring connected to the column shaft, Gaius moved in front of the Dacian, held out his arms, and waited.  The cub would likely collapse and wake in the same instant; their first face-to-face meeting had to be vivid and fucking unforgettable.

When his wrists were freed and the strain on his arms and shoulders released, Alle gasped in a near scream.  His fatigued, wobbly legs gave way, but his ankles were still bound to the post. He fell, face first towards the hard stone floor. Two strong hands grabbed him and broke his fall. 

“Easy, cub.  I have you now.”

Gaius held up the Dacian’s sluggish weight, as Max twisted his long arms behind his back and tied his wrists together above the curve of his bare bum. After Alle’s ankles were released from their hook, Max untied the blindfold, slowly pulling the dark fabric away from Alle’s eyes. 

Squinting at the bright morning light, Allerix sucked in gulps of stuffy air. His lips were cracked and bloody. Gaius cupped his razor-burned cheeks, and held his trembling face steady. Alle blinked twice and then fixed his gaze on Gaius’s amber eyes.

“Good morning, Paulus. You’ve had a terribly rough night. Do you know where you are, Dacian?” 

Alle stared at Gaius's face, and Gaius stared back, an arrogant smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. The Dacian’s queasy expression hardened into an icy, lethal glare. Gaius grabbed him more firmly and stepped closer. 

“After all that, you’re still a defiant, fiery little shit, aren’t you? I’ll ask you again. Do you know where you are?”  Gaius cocked his head and smiled, and decided to wait for a few moments—see how long this feral mongrel could hold his tongue.  They stood there, locked on each other’s eyes, battling without words or steel, until Alle stuttered a hoarse reply.

“I know… where I fucking…”

Alle’s weak, scratchy voice collapsed into an alarming fit of heaving coughs. He fought to catch his breath, wheezing and thrashing. When Max lunged and grabbed him, Gaius’s fascination turned to concern. He snatched a silver cup from the side table by the head of the bed and held it up to the boy’s lips. It contained stale, watered-down wine from the night before, but it would have to do.

“Drink this.” Gaius’s eyes lingered on Alle’s swollen, rough lips.

Alle gulped the bitter liquid down, struggling to clear his dry throat.  When he could finally breath easily, he closed his eyes and relaxed. After a few moments, he slowly lifted his heavy, sultry lids and mumbled. 

“Thank you, Roman.” 

The insolent little prick.

No deference at all, no fucking hint of supplication.

Gaius should have slapped the disrespect off his face, but he didn’t. No point in killing the cub’s rebellious spirit just yet. No, not when the lion wanted to swat his beautiful prey back and forth a bit longer.  

But that could wait.  His stomach was empty and, after all that sweat and semen, he needed a fucking soak in a cool pool. Taming the Dacian would take time. Gaius wanted it to take time. No need to hurry this along. He stepped back and looked Alle up and down, from head to toe.

“Take him back to the stable house and clean off the filth. After he’s fed and shackled as I specified, bring him to the smith’s workshop.” 

“Sir?”

“I'll instruct Carninus to fashion a fugitive tag for him. I do not want him tempted to run off again. He's to be collared—an attractive but secure device.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“All right… I’m off for a wash and a meal.  Atticus mentioned that Callidora has requested an audience with me.  Apparently it’s an urgent matter, but he had no further details. Have you any idea what our mysterious Calli might want to discuss, Max?”

Max swallowed and stared at the floor.  “No, sir.”

“I’ll find out soon enough, I suppose.” Gaius strode within a few inches of Alle’s face.  “And as for you, cub—we'll start your real training when I’m damn well ready. In the meantime, rest up. And let’s have no more fucking daft dreams of escape. You’re my property now. I own you.”  

Gaius pinched Alle’s plump ashen cheek, and flicked the upturned tip of his small perfect nose. “I will discover who you are, you know. The sooner you tell me your birth name, the easier it will be for everyone.” 

As he sauntered towards the corridor, Gaius whistled a cheerful tune while he vigorously scratched his satisfied balls through the fabric of his tunic. Without warning, he hesitated a step and laughed over his shoulder. 

“It is bloody damn good to be home, Maximus.”

“Yes it is, Commander.”

~~~~~~

**Author's note: This is the final draft chapter.  A bonus scene from Chapter 14 follows. For more information on this series, check out the Dominus**[blog](http://jpkenwood.com/). Cheers! JP

 

  


 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first scene of Chapter 14: The collaring of Allerix 
> 
> For more information on the series, including character profiles, story snippets and more, see the **_Dominus_** blog at: http://jpkenwood.com

Chapter 14

**Gaius Fabius’s seaside villa, Campania**

After tottering down the path for some distance with both of his ankles shackled together, Allerix stumbled over the chain and fell to the ground. He turned his shoulder and landed on the soft grass instead of slamming into the sharp gravel of the walkway. Max reached down and hauled him to his feet.

“The smith’s workshop is over there. Move and let’s get this over with.”

They shuffled down the crunchy footpath that led from the stables to the craftsmen’s quarters. The stench of manure gave way to fragrant fumes of burning wood. The whinnies and snorts of horses faded, replaced by the sharp pings of metal striking metal. The new smells and sounds were comforting somehow. Allerix had grown up serenaded by the songs of the forges that dotted the towns and fields of Dacia, the music of blades being sharpened for battle after battle against these unmerciful savages. There had always been war. As long as he and his kinsmen fought, there was hope. Peace meant defeat. 

When they turned a corner, a small brick building with a high vaulted roof came into view, with a thick clay pipe at the top that allowed white smoke to billow into the midday air. The wide wooden door was propped open; light from the fires illuminated the ragged, ruddy face a large man swinging his hammer down onto a glowing metal rod, bending it a bit more with each violent blow. In the shadows, a young man whose face was obscured by soot—a slave, no doubt—wrestled the unwieldy bellows.

Max pushed Allerix over the threshold into the ash-filled air. 

“Felix!” 

His hammer held high for the next strike, the smith spied them and carefully lowered his tool. “Greetings, Maximus. Is this the slave that I’m to collar?”

“Greetings, sir. Yes, this is the Dacian.” 

“The Dacian coward, you mean.” Varius picked at his few remaining teeth with a sliver of wood as he stepped into the dim light of the shop from behind a stack of harvesting equipment. 

“My dear Varius, is this the scamp you’ve been grumbling about?” 

Felix reached for his clay cup and swallowed a hefty swig of wine; red bubbles spilled out of the corners of his downturned mouth. His face was etched by an intersecting pattern of wrinkle lines and sagging flesh. “Is this the fool who nicked the kitchen knife?”

“The very one, mate. Bastard stole the blade and snuck into the main house. He threatened the Commander’s favorite whore—you know, that spastic lad with the floppy brown curls. Show me the fugitive’s back, Maximus. Let’s see if it’s been properly caned.”

Max held Allerix firmly by the shoulders and turned him around, pulling him into an awkward embrace. “Commander Fabius ordered this slave collared with a tag, sirs.”

“Atticus visited me earlier with the commander’s instructions. What a bloody round and tight rump on this one. Shit, I’d love to shove my prick into that cushion. 

Perhaps when the commander tires of him, he’ll give us a turn.” Felix’s shrill cackle resembled the pathetic cry of a trapped animal.

His face pressed against Max’s broad chest, Allerix winced when rough callused fingers scratched the tender lashes that crisscrossed his back. 

“Excellent patterning. Not as harsh as I would have delivered, but effective.” Varius slapped Allerix’s arse, hard enough to force a whimper from his lips.

“Is his collar ready, sir? I have other chores to finish before the light disappears.” 

“Lay it face down on that table. Varius, be a good fellow and bring me that leather hood. We wouldn’t want to scar Commander Fabius’s new sprite, would we?”

After Max pushed him flat on his stomach over the length of the wooden worktable, Varius snaked the musky tan covering over Allerix’s head.  
Blackness. Suffocating blackness. Allerix flew into a panic, flailing his long legs and yelling smothered obscenities. The muffled hiss and crackle of the fires grew louder. 

Max gripped his ankles. “Easy, Paulus! The hood’s to protect your skin. Stop thrashing about or you’ll get burned.”

Two gigantic hands pressed firmly down on Allerix’s shoulders. “Tie up the laces at the back, Maximus.” 

The leather hood tightened around his head, mashing Allerix’s face. He fought for air as blood coursed from his ears to his toes. With every rapid, shallow breath he inhaled, the leather pulled in, crushing his nose and lips. 

“By the gods, what is that?” 

“It’s an antique neck ring that Atticus brought down from the house. Commander Fabius ordered it refashioned into a slave collar. Feel the weight of that silver, Varius. Worth a basket of coin, I reckon.”

“It’s that Gallic relic from the commander’s collection. He showed it to me once, told me that his ancestor received this silver torque as a gift from the divine Julius Caesar himself. Can you imagine that? It’s as old as the Republic, probably older. Look at that bloody intricate craftsmanship. A work of art, really.”

“What a shame to waste such a treasure on this Dacian scum. All right, hold the slave still while I secure this around its neck.” After the torque was wrapped around his throat, something metal was placed on the back of Allerix’s neck.

“Ah, shit. Wait!” Felix cursed. “I nearly forgot the fucking fugitive tag. I have to be sure that the lettering is facing out. All right, it’s on there correctly. This is the tricky part. Make sure that the fugitive stays still.” 

Varius held him down; the side the Allerix’s hooded face pressed against the surface of the table. 

“I’ve never witnessed a slave collared,” Varius said.

“Watch, friend. Take the rivet from the fire and set it upright on the plate. Then slip this hole in the flattened end of the torque over the rivet. See what I’m doing here? Now finish off with the other end of the collar. Aim and....” 

The hammer smashed down; Allerix choked when the torque was locked tight around his neck.

“Gotta be quick, though; get it secured before the rivet cools too much to set properly.” 

The smith slid the metal plate out and the collar loosened. “I suppose if this scoundrel does run off again, it wouldn’t be returned. What damn fool wouldn’t lop its head off for that thick braid of silver?” 

A hand snaked under the flaps of the hood; chapped fingers grazed the back of Allerix’s neck.

“Either way, the slave is dead. Commander Fabius won’t tolerate another escape attempt.”

“True. There, good and snug but loose enough for cleaning. Sit the vile savage on that stool and leave the leather in place until the metal cools.”

While Max carried Allerix over to the stool, Varius mumbled with disgust. “I thought I’d seen the last of these vicious heathens after the last war.”

“Aye, you fought hoards of them on the battlefield, Varius. Always good for a war story, you are. My favorite is the one about the blue-eyed Dacian prince that begged you to kill him.”

Allerix forced his breathing to slow down to quiet the drumming of his pulse.

“That wretch was daft enough to think that I’d defy the commander’s orders to capture any and all royals alive.” Varius chuckled. “Did I tell you that the Dacian offered its arse up like a bloody prostitute, if—and this was fucking unbelievable—if I promised to slit its throat when I was finished. As if the bastard was in a position to bargain!”

“What happened to that Dacian tart?”

“It was carted off to the capital with the rest of the captured royals for execution in the amphitheater. Commander Fabius did allow me to keep that barbarian’s gold handled dagger as a trophy. Haven’t I shown it to you, Felix? It’s that dagger with the intricate wolf’s head design engraved right on the blade. I sometimes carve up my food with that knife. Bloody marvelous utensil.” 

Could it be possible? That sounded like Allerix’s prized dagger, but what were the odds?

As the veterans bantered, Max loosened the laces and lifted the leather hood off. Allerix opened his eyes and gasped for air, tears streaming down his cheeks. Backlit by the light from the doorway, all three men looked him up and down in silence, until Varius finally spoke.

“Well, now. Aren’t you a fetching slut with your pretty new silver necklace.” 

“ _Dute dracu_!” Allerix hurled a gob of spit; it landed with a splat on the stone floor just short of Varius’s sandal.

His fist was swift and ruthless; it slammed as hard as an iron hammer against Allerix’s mouth. Running his tongue over the edges of his still intact teeth, he shook off the blinding pain and stared back defiantly at the Roman brute. Blood dripped down Allerix’s chin as his muscles tensed in anticipation of another punch. 

Max grabbed Varius’s raised forearm. “Sir! The Dacian is Commander Fabius’s property. You’ve no permission to beat him.” 

“Did you see that?” Varius pulled his arm free and pointed. “This slave—a fucking filthy barbarian—spat at me, at an honored veteran soldier. I was awarded the oak crown for valor in battle, you know.”

“You are most honorable, sir. But the commander spent a cupboard of silver for its face, among other attributes. Dominus would be furious if he saw any unnecessary damage to his new pleasure slave’s expensive features. Trust me.” 

Maximus softened his eyes and smiled. “Please trust me, sir.” 

Varius lowered his arm and crouched down until his scarred nose was directly in front of Allerix’s heavy-lidded, angry eyes. “When Commander Fabius finally does order you castrated, Dacian, I vow before Mars that I will be the fortunate bloke permitted to wield the blunt blade. Shit, I’ll use Plautus’s fucking kitchen knife to cut off your balls.” 

When Varius grinned, the battle scars on his weathered face widened to grotesque crimson fissures. “I didn’t hit you that hard, did I, Dacian? You still have your fucking teeth, don’t you? “ Varius pinched Allerix’s cheek, rose to his feet and marched towards the open door. “Keep that foul mongrel out of my sight, Maximus. Farewell, Felix.”

Felix waved his iron tongs as he shouted. “And good health to you, my old friend.”

~~~~


End file.
